Skipped In The Beat
by Like Stars in Twilight
Summary: This time, everything is darker. This time, Shou isn't the one to pull the trigger. And this time, acting must take a back seat to something bigger, bolder...
1. Chapter 1

_Yeah, so I'm just messing around with this. Hopefully it's enjoyable. Don't mind any typos, please; I probably won't go back to change anything, since I'm not writing this with too much seriousness in mind. Still, responses are very welcome. Also, AU. Definitely AU._

The first week was the hardest. Things sped by in a blur, and she struggled to keep herself balanced and her mind focused. The shock of her first celebrity, a middle-aged woman with short brown hair and a constant, dissatisfied sneer on her face, was almost surreal. But she got used to it.

Kimiko Kamio, her temporary employer – or was it sub-employer? – paid well. Kyouko had money enough now for herself, so she spent it on coffee. The coffee was good, and she had been convinced that the café's bars of chocolate, dark and luscious-looking and unbelievably expensive, would taste like something short of heaven. Kyouko glanced back at the café counter, and the young man with his green café apron, the one who had given her the chocolate for free, waved to her. She smiled and waved back. _He's like me, _she thought, remembering the fast-food restaurant that had employed her, only a few weeks past.

Kyouko suddenly found herself frowning, an odd feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. The memories that she had pushed back kept resurfacing, and with them the nausea, the shame, the humiliation of that time, when she had learned the truth. _I'm just a maid. _

When she left the café, she made certain to smile again at the young man with his green apron, thanking him for the chocolate. Discretely, she placed a bit of money in the tip-box, more than enough to cover for the chocolate and for the kindness.

"Was it just short of heaven?" the young man asked. He was tall, very tall, and blonde. Looking at him, she was reminded of Shoutarou – but she couldn't recall Shoutarou ever smiling like this man, like he was genuinely pleased at her presence.

"Better," Kyouko said, and the young man's smile deepened. Later, when she thought of everything, tears burned at her eyes. But the tears were replaced by anger, and she promised herself that she would go back to the café, and have more chocolate. After all, without Shoutarou, she could afford to splurge every once and a while.

* * *

><p>The lights were distracting. Kyouko stood on tip-toe, trying to locate her newest employer. She found him, sitting in a chair by the huge double-doors, talking on his cell-phone.<p>

_It looks like he's busy. I'd better not bother him yet_. Spying movement in the corner of her eye, she quickly ducked out of the way of an on-coming pack of exquisitely dressed women. The smooth fragrances of perfume, and the flashes of silk and chiffon and glittering sequins, were both amazingly glamorous and slightly scary.

She watched the women make a beeline for the runway, trampling anyone stupid enough to stand in their path. Kyouko frowned. _What's all the fuss about?_

A moment later, she understood. The runway, which had been dark for the past hour, suddenly blazed with gold light. There was a faint strum of music, and the first model – a man dressed in a strikingly pale Armani suit – strode out, graceful and lithe as a leopard. A murmur of excitement rose, and cameras flashed in a brilliant frenzy.

Kyouko slid toward a corner, careful as a rabbit, to watch. The model was quick and efficient with his walk, but somehow everything seemed to slow, and the angles of his face and the sharp folds of his suit branded themselves in her mind. For one stark moment, Kyouko felt wholly out of place – a plain boring girl, in plain boring clothes, breathing the same air as _that _man.

She shook herself. This wasn't the time to be lingering on frivolous thoughts. She needed to do her job. Quickly, she took out one of her many note-pads, and started jotting down her observations.

Kyouko wrote notes well into the night. Her new employer didn't stir from his spot by the doors until the show was over, and even then he still held his cell phone to his ear. Closing her note-pad, she made her way to the tables on the over side of the runway. There were trays of food, and thin fluted glasses of champagne and sparkling water. She made a plate and took two glasses, one of champagne and one of water, before walking timidly back to her employer.

He accepted the champagne and food with a smile. Kyouko breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps Yukihito Yashiro would be better than her previous employers.

_One can only hope_, she thought, remembering the days of difficult work, biting insults, and the constant humiliation.

She waited off to the side as Yashiro finally finished with his call. When the man glanced at her and clapped both of his hands together, a sudden feeling of forbidding washed over her.

"Kyouko-san! We meet at last. I've heard many things about you." He offered her his hand, and she took it, hesitantly. "Are you ready?"

_Ready for what? _She wondered, but nodded anyway. "Yes, Yashiro-san."

"Good, good. Here's what I need…"

* * *

><p>With every new employer, Kyouko experienced something different, but the proceedings were usually the same. Either she was given of list of duties, or her duties were dictated to her, and she was to perform them to perfection. Most of the time, what was expected of her was simple – clean, serve, and make certain things were orderly. It was much like she had done with Shoutarou, except now she was paid for it.<p>

But this was a different situation. She was in a man's apartment, carefully organizing bags of groceries and restocking a woefully bare refrigerator – but the man himself was home. And not just any man, either.

Kyouko looked over into the living room. Like the kitchen, it was vast, and every inch of it spoke of wealth – but a demure, down-to-earth kind of wealth. Yashiro had pulled out a complicated looking master-schedule, and had it spayed over a pale leather couch. The man sitting opposite of him, tall and dark-haired and dark-eyed, regarded the schedule coolly.

"I think everything's done here, Ren," said Yashiro, suddenly folding the schedule map-like, and leaning back. "You should be set until July of next year."

"I'm glad. I wouldn't like to think that you'd be invading my home like this every night, Yashiro."

"It was necessary," Yashiro shot back, though his voice wavered slightly.

There was a deep sigh. "You and I have different ideas of necessary."

"Ah…well…" Yashiro suddenly sucked in a breath. "Kyouko-san! You're finished already?"

Kyouko blinked, and stammered, "Y-yes! Everything's finished." _Or almost everything._

"Send the girl home already, Yashiro."

"Not yet. You still haven't had dinner, and Kyouko's an excellent cook, I hear."

She knew that was her cue. Slipping silently back into the depths of the kitchen, she set to work, reaching for a bag of rice.

From the living room, there was a rising sound of Yashiro and Tsuruga Ren having a quiet argument. It was very clear that Kyouko's presence was unwelcome, but Yashiro had given her specific orders – so as much as she wanted to leave, she couldn't.

But dinner came along faster than she'd expected. She spooned clumps of rice onto a pair of white plates, with thin slices of chicken breast and dainty slivers of vegetables. Yashiro raised an eyebrow as she swept in, placing the plates before the two of them, and then giving them both small bowls of miso soup. Afterward, Kyouko retreated back to the kitchen.

Things were quiet for a while, and for a few minutes Kyouko felt almost comfortable. She cleaned the pots and pans she'd dirtied, and swept the nearly pristine kitchen floor. A part of her wanted to do more, to move on from the kitchen to the apartment proper – but she stopped herself, remembering that Yashiro hadn't assigned those duties to her.

_Things should be relatively simple for you, Kyouko-san. I'll only require you for the evenings, to make sure Ren eats a suitable meal. It might be a bit tricky some days – Ren's a professional, but his diet is terribly poor, since he skips out on lunch and dinner so often. You'll have to be creative in his meals – but you can do that, can't you? And, is it possible to make him some bento? That guy really is a deviant when it comes to eating._

It was odd working for an employer who expected so little. Her past employers had given her hours upon hours of work, from cleaning bathrooms to tidying dressing-rooms, and everything else besides. And Yashiro didn't even want her for the full day.

_I might even have time to go to that acting school more often. _She felt giddy at the very thought. Things were beginning to work out, just as the President had promised.

Even if Tsuruga Ren didn't like her, this job was far, far better than her previous ones.

"Kyouko-san!" came Yashiro's voice, "may we have seconds?"

* * *

><p>Several days after starting her new job, Kyouko created a small schedule of her own. Two hours every evening were promised to Tsuruga Ren; the rest of her day would be spent at LME's acting school, and whatever time was left over would be used to seek out acting opportunities.<p>

It seemed almost like a dream come true. She had more time to sleep at night, and ideas came more freely to her, now that the pressure of work had lessened. But good things had a way of making themselves scarce around her.

"I don't think I've seen you before. Are you sure you're a student?"

The teacher's incredulous tone was accompanied by a series of twittering snickers. Kyouko knew she should have expected this – she'd rarely had a chance to come to the acting school, and when she did, it had only been for a few minutes. It was no surprise that each of the acting school's teachers had called her out to question her.

This particular teacher looked almost apologetic – which made things worse. "My name is on the roster, Sensei."

"So it is. But I've never seen you. Have you been sick?"

"Yes," Kyouko lied, thinking that was as good an excuse as any. The teacher nodded.

"Well, it might be a bit tough for you, then. There's test in two weeks, so you'll have to study quite hard to catch up."

"Yes, Sensei."

Upon leaving the acting school, she really did feel sick. Only two weeks to study for months of material she'd missed – what was she going to do?

The bike ride to Tsuruga Ren's gated complex was longer than it should have been. Her feet slowed as her mind raced, and by the time she realized that the elderly man beside her, inching slowly forward with his walker, was moving faster than she was, it was already half past six.

She was going to be late – and she absolutely couldn't afford to be late. Tsuruga Ren was so strictly professional that she had no doubt that any lateness on her part would be a mark against her. _Time to put the petal to the metal. _

The edges of the sky were just beginning to darken by the time she entered into the complex, sweating and completely out of breath. But she had time. It was only two more minutes to seven, and if she hurried, she would make it to the door right on the hour.

She didn't take into account the elevators. There was a rather long line waiting patiently at the one working elevator, while the others somehow, inexplicably, stood out of order. Kyouko gaped for a full second, hardly able to comprehend how three elevators – _three!_ – could have possibly stopped functioning, all at the same time. Then she shook her head. _Stairs. I can take the stairs._

When the door loomed before her, Kyouko's vision was somewhat blurry, and her legs burned with pain and weakness. But she'd made it.

Before she could tap her knuckles to the door to knock, though, the door opened for her. The tall figure of Tsuruga Ren smiled at her – a blindingly brilliant smile so terrifying that Kyoko's already weak knees nearly gave way.

"It's good to see you, Mogami-san," he said with that awful smile, and Kyouko had to fight to keep herself from calling him liar to his face. She swallowed the word, just barely, as he beckoned her with an elegant hand into his apartment. "I was wondering when you would finally decide to show."

She was late. Really late. If the clock on the wall was correct – and it was – then it had taken her a full twenty minutes to surmount the stairs.

A flash of cold fear swept over her spine, and she immediately apologized. He barely glanced at her, idly waving away her words. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

But she knew better. He had yet to stop smiling; the man was definitely angry.

Kyouko heard the soft murmur of the television as she checked the reserves of the refrigerator. Removing the last packet of meat, she sighed. Perhaps it had been too much to hope that he would restock his refrigerator like a normal person – she would have to ask Yashiro-san if there would be time to go on a shopping trip tomorrow.

She made stirfry. It took a while, what with the pieces of steak that were over long in cooking, but it allowed her a moment to think. Tsuruga Ren's presence in the living room made her vaguely anxious (was he still angry? What would he say to her, once she left the kitchen?), but it was really the test that had her mind churning, and her stomach churning with it. Tonight, once she was finished here, she would begin studying – maybe even pull an all-nighter – and tomorrow she would look for someone among the acting students for help. The second she thought of the idea, though, she immediately dismissed it. Her situation hadn't gotten so desperate that she would ask someone for help; people didn't give help for free, and all of her years attending school with Shoutarou had taught her that she certainly didn't have the ability to make allies. Kyouko doubted that the students of the acting school would be any better than the girls of her old school, who had fawned constantly over Shoutarou, and tormented her when they weren't falling over him.

But there was one girl, in particular, that Kyouko might have a chance of approaching. From what she had noticed, the girl was something of a loner, always off to the side of everyone else – cold in manner, brisk in tone, but from what Kyoko had seen of her, the girl was genius when it came to acting. She would have to be careful, but if she played her cards right, perhaps asking Kotonami Kanae for help wouldn't be a waste of time.

The stirfry finished cooking, and, feeling a little bit better about things, Kyoko decided to try something different. Since it was difficult enough to get Tsuruga Ren to eat a full meal, she rarely made desert – but tonight, despite everything, she was feeling a little adventurous.

Kyouko thought about it as she walked to the living room, and carefully laid out Tsuruga Ren's dinner before him. _He might like it. It's delicate, light, and it should go well after the stirfry. _

Fully intending to go back and hide out in the kitchen to wait on the desert, Kyouko was surprised when Tsuruga Ren pointed to the end of the couch, and told her to "sit."

She froze. He gazed at her and smiled politely. His polite smile was only slightly less frightening than his gentlemen's smile, and she immediately put all thoughts of refusing him out of her mind.

"You should rest for a while. I know you're tired." He patted the couch cushion beside him. "Come on. Sit."

Kyouko obeyed, though reluctantly. A part of her – a very large part – worried that this was a trap. None of her past employers had ever offered her any niceties, and most of them had barely even tolerated her presence, much less allowed her to sit by them. Tsuruga Ren was different, of course. The man was gentle and kind to nearly every person he came across, and he seemed to make it a point of setting people at ease around him.

She was very aware of how well he treated other people, but that didn't change the fact that he disliked her, and had disliked her from the first day they'd met. Kyouko didn't know why he disliked her, but this wasn't the first time that someone had hated her without an apparent reason.

They sat in silence. A talk show, one she was unfamiliar with, flashed upon the television screen. Kyouko was really only half interested, but she placed her entire focus upon it – anything to avoid looking over at Tsuruga Ren.

She immediately regretted it.

There were three different hosts and a person in a white-feathered chicken suit who they called Bo. The hosts were a good natured bunch, their jokes tasteful, and Kyouko slowly found herself liking them.

Then a blonde, smug-looking rocker took to the stage, and whatever good feelings Kyoko possessed at the moment completely withered into ash.

_Shou…Shoutarou?_

Vaguely, she felt Tsuruga Ren shift beside her on the couch. "Interesting. I don't think I've ever seen a visual kei on this show before."

Kyouko could hardly breathe. For the life of her, she couldn't turn her eyes away from the screen.

_"So, Fuwa-san. You've come such a long way in a short time. Who would you say has been the most influential person in your career so far? The one who supported you along the way?"_

_ Sho grinned. "Ah, that's a bit tough. I would say…my manager, of course. The wonderful Shouko."_

Kyouko felt the urge to vomit.

_ The shortest of the hosts, the leader, raised his hand. "Question, question! Fuwa-san, we know your fanbase__ mainly consists of women – so there's no denying that you're popular with the ladies. Is there anyone special in your life, then? Maybe someone who you would want to see by your side, as you continue to rise to the top?"_

_ "No, unfortunately," Shoutarou said slowly. "I've never been in love before. But if I had to choose the person I would want most, the person I would give my heart to…she would be talented and intelligent. Someone I could match wits with, who could stand on equal footing with me. Someone who would blow my mind every time our eyes meet."_

_ "Someone beautiful, then?" asked one of the hosts._

_ "Yes. Someone beautiful."_

The channel suddenly switched to the next – to some drama, with two people, a young, yellow haired man and dark haired woman, sitting under the stars. After what felt like an eternity, Kyouko was able to draw a breath.

_I've never been in love before._

Hearing the truth again, after months of hiding from it, stilled something inside of her. Shoutarou had never loved her – she really had just been a maid, a servant of convenience, a person of absolutely no consequence.

"Are you a fan of his?"

She looked at Tsuruga Ren. He was gazing back at her, a shadow of something darkening his already dark eyes. If Kyouko had been smarter, she would have recognized that something immediately, and chosen her words with more care.

As it was, in the heat of the emotion that was rapidly building inside of her chest, Kyouko said the first thing that came to her lips.

"I hate him."

Tsuruga Ren continued to stare at her, smiling slightly. The smile was dark, so very dark, that Kyoko instantly realized she'd made a mistake. "How strange. The way you were looking at the screen, I would have thought you were in love with him. Did your love vanish, now that he is no longer your fiancée?"

Kyouko sat stock-still, unable to think. Her blood froze in her veins. _How does he know?_

That dark, ominous smile deepened. "It's very obvious, Mogami-san," he said, leaning in, "that you're working for LME for a reason. Anyone with two eyes can see. You, running around doing whatever menial task you're assigned, all for the slight chance that if you impress the right person, the President will make you a talento. Has it happened yet, Mogami-san?"

She opened her mouth to speak, to deny him, but nothing came out.

"No? Do you know why, Mogami-san?" He reached out, and one of his long fingers slid down the side of her cheek. It was the most intimate thing anyone had ever done to her, and Kyouko had to fight back a scream of terror and utter despair. Shoutarou, in the entire year they had been engaged, had never touched her the way this man – who absolutely hated her – did. "It is because no self-respecting person, much less anyone from LME, would ever promote someone like you. An actor, no matter who they are, must always possess the drive to perfect their talent. And that drive can never come from a desire for vengeance. That's why you're still here, a slave to LME, and not a talento. Because of your abhorrent crusade for revenge."

Slowly, he leaned away from her, as though she were some disgusting creature. "Thank you for the dinner, Mogami-san. Don't let me keep you."

It was a clear dismissal. She rose from the couch, carefully collected his plate, and went back to the kitchen. With a steady hand, she cleaned the dishes, wiped the counter, and swept the white and green tiled floor. When she was done, she took out the bread pudding from the oven. It had cooked well, the edges slightly brown, and the bit of caramel she drizzled over it was quickly absorbed – so it was spongy and light enough for Tsuruga Ren's tastes. She placed it into the refrigerator. Then she left.

As soon as she stepped out of his apartment, it felt as though her heart had lodged itself into her throat. Her breath came in shallow little gasps, and she had difficulty locating the one working elevator. The single person boarding the elevator looked at her, and asked in a worried voice, "Are you okay, Miss?"

"I'm okay." She was perfectly fine. She had been fine when Shoutarou had cast her out, and she was fine now. Better than fine, even. Tsuruga Ren had spoken the truth to her, a truth that no one, including the President, had bothered to mention.

Outside, the air was cool. She mounted her bike, and rode out of the complex, her eyes dry. A year ago, she would have cried, long and hard, until there were no more tears left to her. Things were different now. Just as Shotarou had told her what he'd really thought of her, Tsuruga Ren had done the same. And it helped.

The emotions seething in her heart felt good. She hated Shoutarou with a hatred so fiery and exquisite that she smiled for the first time in what seemed like ages. And she hated Tsuruga Ren, but that hate wasn't the same. It was…softer, calmer, and beneath it she felt a surge of gratitude. If it hadn't been for him, she would have worked and worked, struggling to please every person that she met until she became an actress. She would have worked, probably for years, until the President decided she was good enough – and now, she knew that would have been in vain. Shoutarou had never thought she was good enough, and when she'd outlived her usefulness, he'd thrown her away – it had been stupid of her to think that anyone else, including the President, would do any differently.

Well. She was done being a maid, both to Shoutarou and to LME. It was time to take matters into her own hands.

Kyouko petaled down a steep hill, the wind combing through her hair, and she started laughing. Hard. She laughed so hard that the windows of the passing apartment buildings lit up in alarm, and several people poked their heads outside in terror.

_Thank you, Tsuruga Ren, for being honest._

* * *

><p>The girl was average-looking. The hair was cut short, perhaps in some attempt to emphasize her wide amber eyes, and the auburn color of it had been expertly executed by a professional hand. And it was all wrong. Perhaps if the hair had been dyed something close to a deep red, and a bit more length had been left to it, the girl wouldn't look quite so plain. Unfortunately, the pool of applicants was very large, and nearly every one of them naturally possessed striking, lovely features…except this girl. She was an utter paradox. Her face was nothing to write home about, but she was tall and long-legged, and she walked with the grace of an old-time princess.<p>

He held out a hand. "A pleasure to meet you, my dear. May I have your name?"

"Mogami Kyouko," she said, slowly placing her fingers in his.

Mogami Kyouko. Yes, he liked the sound of it. Her hand was warm, and her skin was smooth and flawless. Her eyes, up close, were ravishing – they reminded him of topazes. Hot, fiery topazes.

He was sold. She would take a tremendous amount of work to perfect, but he had never been one to back down from a challenge.

And besides that, he liked the raw, searing hatred that gleamed in those topaz eyes.

"Mogami Kyouko," he said, "I would like to see more of you. Would you be interested in signing a contract? If you would, we would be able to start you off on a modeling career – right this moment, in fact."

She smiled, and it was absolutely devastating. "Do you have a pen?"

And he thought, _Ah, old boy, I think you've out done yourself this time. _He handed her a black pen from his shirt pocket, thinking of LME's president. _Lory can eat his heart out. I can't believe he let this one get away._

But then, little brothers did have the tendency to be idiots.

* * *

><p>Huh. That was fun. Perhaps I'll continue...<p>

And yes, there's a reason Kyouko refers to Ren throughout by his full name. A good reason.

Ciao.


	2. The Coming of the Snow Maiden

_So, another chapter. I would like to thank everyone who reviewed - you've encouraged me more than you know. For this chapter, I will again let it be known that I am only writing this for fun; so little to no research has been conducted, and I doubt I will go back and edit this. There is one single original character - I'm usually adverse to them, but he was needed. I hope this isn't too confusing, and I will try to make this deviate from canon as little as possible. _

* * *

><p>It was the dead of winter, and Shou found himself pondering. Little things, like the strings of his guitar that needed replacing, the heavy black chain that Shouko had given him (he would have to find the appropriate present to repay her), what brand of beer would replace the current one he had stocked in his refrigerator. For a moment - the barest second - his thoughts turned to his maid, a year and a half gone. He even remembered the ring he had given her. Silver, with a tiny garnet instead of a diamond. The lie that went with the ring was more hazy in his mind, but it had served its purpose. Kyouko had always been gullible, and the ring had swayed her, even when she had protested against leaving Kyoto.<p>

There was no doubt in his mind that she had returned there, to live out an obscure, dull existence. Fitting, of course. She had always been an obscure, dull person. Better for her to be in Kyoto, a place that suited her, instead of here where she would be overlooked, like a mote of dust.

"Shou," said Asami, glancing at him over her shoulder. "Pay attention."

"I am paying attention." He smirked, tapping a pen idly against his lips.

"Oh? Then I assume you know the name of the last girl who just walked in, and poured out her soul to you."

"Name…Megumi, age nineteen, dances ballet for a hobby."

She smiled. "Good to know you're awake. Should we sent in the next one?"

"No. It's time for a break."

"Shou! There are still forty more girls - "

"And they can wait. Where's Shouko?"

Asami heaved a sigh. "In the lobby."

The lobby was quieter than his office, and he was able to slip away without causing a scene. There were lines of women; he felt searching, hungry eyes slide over him, but willfully ignored the feeling, and fortunately for him, no one noticed him. Singers and actresses and models - as well as some of the lower bottom feeders of the entertainment industry - had all come here at his beck, but certain necessities came first.

He found Shouko in the back of the lobby, bathed in the light of the tall windows. Beyond the windows, there was a stunning view of tall glass skyscrapers and blue, cloudless sky. But Shou only had eyes for Shouko - or rather, for the elaborate bento that was laid out on the table before her. She always knew when he was hungry.

His manager was skimming through some fashion magazine, and she flipped a page, not even bothering to look at him. "Long day, Shou?"

Shou merely grunted, taking up a pair of chop sticks.

"I've researched two girls I think might be a perfect fit," she said, "but that still leaves the other two slots, Shou. And there isn't much time before we shot this thing. Have you made any decisions?"

He hadn't. Shou had a particular look in mind for his P.V., and none of the girls he'd seen (even some of those tall, well proportioned models with faces of perfection) had possessed it. Since his mouth was full, he gave her another grunt.

Shouko understood. "Time is of the essence, Shou. If you don't find two girls before tomorrow, I'll have to choose them myself." She folded the magazine close. "The director won't be pleased if things are delayed."

He nearly snorted. Sho couldn't care less about that short, pig-eyed little man - this was _his _P.V., and he was calling the shots.

He was fully prepared to swallow what food was in his mouth, and tell Shouko exactly what he thought of the director, but the cover of Shouko's magazine, of all things, caught his eye.

It was different from the standard magazine cover (not that Shou made it habit to look at women's magazines, or anything) - a woman in a white kimono, silvery blonde hair stirring in some breeze, a dark smile reflected in eyes of deep violet. The kimono was far from traditional - it looked to be of the thinnest silk, barely reaching to the woman's waist - and beneath it, the woman wore a string of sapphires around her neck, and a bikini as white as the kimono.

Shou snatched the magazine up. Shouko blinked at him.

"Who is this?" Shou traced his fingers over the cover, half-expecting to feel the smooth fabric of silk, or the soft caress of skin…

"Why?" Shouko asked, her voice low.

He flicked his gaze up at her. His manager was looking at him, her eyes wide with…fear?

No, that couldn't be it. "My PV. I want her. She has to be in it."

"Shou, I don't think…that would be a good idea. Or at least a plausible one."

"And why not?" he said, irritated.

Shouko continued staring at him, as though she were terrified. "She's one of the top models of Japan. There's just no way…"

Shou smirked, slowly leaning over the table, to touch Shouko's cheek. "And I'm the top singer in Japan. I'm sure we can work something out. Am I right?"

Shouko nodded reluctantly. Because in the end, Shou always got what he wanted.

* * *

><p>She lived a double life. A portion of her time was devoted to putting up a front, for the sake of the President - she showed up at LME as she always did, and attended the acting school on a semi-regular basis. Every night, she never failed to make her way to Tsuruga Ren's apartment to cook dinner, so Yashiro was pleased, and she gave neither man any cause to be dissatisfied with her work.<p>

But the rest of her day was spent at White Shogun Enterprises. Her make-up artist would re-do her, taking her hair - now so pale it sometimes looked like strands of snow - and adding extensions, until it curled down her back. Then her cheeks were brushed with subtle hints of blush, contacts were popped into her eyes, and her make-up artist somehow - somehow - reworked her face, until she looked like a completely different person. Then she was off to a photo-shot, or to a runway, or, rarely, to a movie set. Today, though, she was making her way to see the Head.

The entire top floor of White Shogun Enterprises served as the Head's office. But unlike the President, the Head's domain was not a palace-like place of extravagance; here, it was dark, with cool shadows dotting the floors of smooth wood, and the very air felt subdued. Still, there was a great deal of movement - this was a place of business, and the Head did not waste any space with decadence, opting, instead, to allow the use of this floor to anyone who had need. She passed dozens of models, and even saw a man whom she suspected was the CEO of a large, well known firm - though for the life of her, she couldn't begin to guess why he would be here.

Ironically, the Head was not sitting at his desk, sunbathing before the tall, tinted windows of the floor's east wing (as he was wont to do) - but rather, he was conducting a photo-shot.

She waited off to the side, silently watching. She had heard that the Head's first passion had been photography, but she had never actually seen him engage in it. The model he was shooting stood almost perfectly still, making only tiny changes to her stance, her blue eyes growing more sultry with each passing second.

Kyouko released a breath. It was…beautiful. That was the only word she could ascribe to it. She had witnessed numerous photo-shots, and had herself participated in countless others, but she had never seen something so…intimate. So divine. It was almost like she had walked in on a private moment - a moment of unspeakable loveliness.

After a time, the Head idly snapped his fingers, and rose to his feet. The model blinked, shaking her head, and slipped out of her stance. It was over.

"That was finely done," the Head murmured to the model. The woman blushed, and gave him a slight bow. "I expect the same tomorrow."

"Yes, Head," the model said, bowing again.

"Get some rest," the Head said, and waved as the model turned to leave. His eyes fell on Kyouko. "Ah, Kyouko-san. Walk with me."

She followed him, and he led her to a large room with black couches and a soothing aquarium built into the room's wall. She stared at the aquarium's multitude of colorful fish - and was that a shark in there, too? - while the Head sat down onto one of the couches, and lit a cigarette.

"So, my dear," he said at last, breathing out a slow cloud of smoke, "how is the life of a model treating you?"

They always started their conversations this way, with the Head asking the same question, and Kyouko giving him the same answer. "Extremely good, Head."

"It seems that I've made a splendid investment in you. You've risen to the pinnacle of fame in less than a year. A record, I think." He lounged back over the couch, his eyes narrowing. "I believe it's time to push things up a notch. How would you like to be one of the faces of White Shogun Enterprises?"

"I…" For a full moment, Kyouko was speechless. Did the Head really mean it? "What would the position entail?"

The Head grinned. "Good girl. That's what I like about you - you think things through. The position won't be a difficult one, in theory. You'll be representing our line of up-and-coming models to the world- the face of new blood, as it were. Your presence will be required at certain events and conventions, and you will have to attend every major fashion show - as one of the lead models, of course. It will be a lot of work, but I'm sure you're up to it."

Outwardly, she nodded. "Yes, Head." Inwardly, however, her mind was a swirl of chaotic thoughts. It took a great deal of effort to keep herself focused on the Head's words.

"Tomorrow night, there is going to be a charity function spear-headed by the President of LME," the Head said, his gaze darkening slightly. "It will be insane. Utterly insane. That dolt Lory couldn't do normal to save his life. Still, I have to attend. And you'll be coming with me."

It was obvious that she didn't have much of a choice, so she said, "I would love to, Head."

"You _will_ love it," he said slowly, a smile crinkling at his eyes. "It's time to show those folks at LME just how far you've come with your hate."

The way he looked at her, like a proud parent, made Kyouko feel warm inside. And she smiled too, thinking of Tsuruga Ren and Shoutaro. Had it not been for them, she would have never gotten to this place. She owed them so much.

And it was time to repay.

* * *

><p>Yashiro thought himself a good judge of character. He did make mistakes, but rarely; whenever he pegged someone as having a certain attitude, a certain air, he was usually correct.<p>

It was a vital skill to possess, especially when one worked among celebrities. But it was also something of a double-edged sword; the people who he did misjudge, he misjudged badly.

Somehow - _somehow _- he had misjudged Kyouko. She was a good, quiet girl, and dead helpful; whatever the need, whenever the time, Kyouko was there, and anything he asked of her she would do gladly. But he had thought, when he'd first met her, that she'd possessed spunk, a hidden fire within her, the spark of something intriguing.

And he'd been wrong. Kyouko was, simply put, rather docile. She did her work quickly and efficiently, spoke politely when addressed, and otherwise kept her head down, and remained out of sight. If Yashiro didn't sign for her check every other week, he might well have forgotten about her.

_Which, _he thought with a grimace, _is completely unfair. The President told me specifically to keep an eye upon Kyouko, and I'm not doing a very good job of it._

Well, there was no time like the present to rectify things. "Kyouko-san, could I speak to you for a moment?"

The girl's eyes flicked up at him in surprise, and she straightened. "Certainly, Yashiro-san."

The kitchen was dark save for the oven light. Pans of food - grilled fish with steamed rice, perfectly seared steak layered with egg, cutlets of pork with stewed vegetables - lined the countertops. Kyouko had really outdone herself this time. Yashiro envied Ren (who, no doubt, would only eat a small portion of the food Kyouko had cooked, leaving the rest to waste).

Not for the first time, Yashiro wondered if this was a suitable situation for Kyouko - she worked so hard, but most of her efforts went uneaten, and unappreciated. He knew Ren didn't do it purposefully; the man was eating more now than he had before Kyouko, and, to be honest, Ren did to try everything she prepared. In the end, Ren just wasn't a huge eater. But Kyouko, for her part, never complained.

They sat in Ren's living room. There were fading bands of red-gold sunlight filtering from the windows, as evening gave way to night. The warm light slid over Kyouko's skin and face, over the plain work-clothes she had taken to wearing, and into her amber eyes. Looking at her, Yashiro could think of only one word.

Ordinary.

He fought back another grimace. It was an unkind thought, but he had to be honest with himself. Kyouko possessed average looks, and an average temperament. It wasn't her fault, of course. But it made things harder.

Truly, Yashiro wanted nothing more than to see Kyouko get her big break. The President had prevailed upon him to evaluate Kyouko, and with Yashiro's years as a manager of celebrities, he had thought the task would be simple. And it was, in a sense; tonight, when he had a chance to report back to the President (since the man had been dropping none too subtle hints for Yashiro to do so for a while now), Yashiro would tell him the truth.

Kyouko wasn't star quality.

It hurt for him to admit it, even inwardly, so Yashiro forced himself to smile. "Kyouko-san, how would you like to come to the President's charity function?"

For a second, Yashiro could have sworn he saw Kyouko's eyes flicker. "A charity function? Isn't that tomorrow?"

"Yes," he answered slowly. "It's scheduled to start in the evening. Would you be interested in attending?"

Kyouko said nothing for a time, her eyes lowering. An uncomfortable silence stretched, and Yashiro struggled to keep from fidgeting like a child.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. "I have never gone to any of the events hosted by LME. What would the President say?"

"He would be delighted that you were there. After all, you're one of his trusted employees."

The girl looked up. Her amber eyes were brilliant, and slightly moist, and the smile that bloomed over her face was inexplicably sad. "Yes, I'm sure the President would be happy, wouldn't he? But I don't think I can come."

When Kyouko offered no explanation, Yashiro simply nodded, and smiled back. It really wasn't his business to pry, and Yashiro was well aware that Kyouko was a private person. "I'm sorry to hear that. I do hope that you'll consider coming to the next event, Kyouko-san," he said, before quickly changing the subject. "So, how is the acting school coming along for you?"

They talked for the next fifteen minutes. Then night fully fell, the sky properly dark, and Ren arrived home, from a late filming for one of his new dramas. Kyouko's gaze snapped in Ren's direction, like a startled rabbit. Quickly, she excused herself from Yashiro, and all but scurried into the kitchen.

Yashiro frowned. _Is Kyouko afraid of Ren?_

The two of them rarely spoke to each other, for all that Kyouko worked in Ren's apartment for a good portion of the day. Yashiro had never really paid much attention to when they interacted. As Ren's manager, Yashiro had always been of a mind that the man was something of a lady-killer - he was the top actor in Japan, after all, and women all but tripped over themselves to be in his presence. But Kyouko…

Yashiro watched the girl hurriedly put the pans of the food she'd cooked into the refrigerator, then hastily said a polite goodbye to both himself and Ren. When Kyouko left, she was nothing but a blur, the bright bandanna she wore over her hair flashing crimson as she disappeared through the apartment door.

Ren settled himself on one of his pale couches, and idly turned on his television. Yashiro stared at him. "What was that all about?"

Ren didn't even glance at him. "Isn't it obvious? The girl doesn't like me, Yashiro."

_And you're okay with that? _"Shouldn't you, um, do something, then?"

"And what would you suggest?" Ren asked, with a brilliant smile.

Suddenly, it was Yashiro who was terrified. "N-nothing. I'm sure it will work itself out," he said lamely.

Ren's smile dimmed. "If you think so, Yashiro."

* * *

><p>There were times when Shouko just couldn't believe her luck. If someone had told her that she would meet the very person she'd been trying to contact for weeks here, at some over the top charity event, she certainly wouldn't have believed them.<p>

Since things were finally working in her favor, Shouko didn't dare waste any time. "My client, Shou, is working on a PV. We were thinking that you would be an excellent fit."

Long fingered hands wrapped around the stem of a wine glass. "I'm afraid I'm not an actress, Shouko-san," said a voice like cool honey.

"That won't be a problem," Shouko said quickly. "Shou isn't an actor either, nor are the two other girls we've signed to participate in his P.V. Or, at least, the two girls aren't professional actresses, yet."

"I'll think about it."

Shouko felt a flash of dismay. Shou absolutely wanted this woman for his P.V. - he wasn't going to take no, or an _I'll think about it_, for an answer.

Luckily, Shou came striding to the rescue. The boy looked rather dashing, in a long, dark blue jacket threaded liberally with thin chains of silver. Shouko hoped, for his sake, that whatever ever came out of his mouth would be just as impressive as his clothing.

The model - _no_, Shoko amended, _the super-model _- turned her violet-eyed gaze on Shou. Shouko was reminded of nothing more than a predator; a beautiful, patient leopard, waiting for hapless prey to coming within striking distance. And Shou was the gazelle, unsuspecting and completely ignorant of the danger.

Shouko held her breath. Shou was usually quite professional, and she could, most of the time, trust him not to make a fool of himself. But this woman had become an obsession for him - Shouko had seen him gazing at photos of her before and after song rehearsals, and he had let slip that she was his inspiration for his newest ballad, _Princess In Snow._

Shou's eyes were dark - even from where she stood, Shouko could see his pupils were disturbingly large.

"I don't think we've met," he said. And, to Shouko's horror, Shou gave the woman a slight bow. "Fuwa Shou."

The model, for her part, gazed at him so long that Shouko began to fear for Shou. Then she smiled - and in an instant, grew immeasurably more lovely - her violet eyes glittering. "Kyouko, representative of White Shogun Enterprises."

"Kyouko," Shou murmured, and Shouko knew he was tasting her name on his tongue. "I knew a Kyouko, once. You're nothing like her."

"Really?" she asked, her smile becoming a touch colder.

Shou smirked. "Yes. She was a childhood friend. A bit forgettable. Not like you."

The model, Kyouko, didn't react to Shou's flagrant flirting; she obviously wasn't like most women, who had a tendency to stammer and blush under Shou's regard. She inclined her head, her violet eyes half-lidded, and her incredibly long, white-blonde hair cascading down a shoulder. "Interesting. I remember there was a man, some time ago, who thought I was very forgettable."

Shou leaned closer to her. "He was a fool."

Feeling suddenly very anxious, Shouko spoke up. "Uh, Shou, I think we should get back."

The model blinked slowly, almost languidly. "Shouko-san is right. I've been gone for too long. I should go."

"Shouko and I will come with you," Shou said.

The walk back was exceedingly awkward for Shouko. For the first time in a while, she realized that Shou, for all that he maintained a smooth, confident air, was still very young and inexperienced. An older man, Shouko knew, would have been able to hide the hungry look that lingered now in Shou's eyes. An older man would not have betrayed himself so easily to a woman, would have smothered the blatant desire that Shou couldn't help but show over his face.

_Is this what it feels like to be a third wheel? _Shouko wondered, a little dazed.

And then they were back in the throng of celebrities, beneath lights of gold and orange and red. The President of LME, in rare show of restraint, had stopped short of transforming the resort hotel into a traditional Chinese palace - only this area, the resort proper, had been touched by the LME President's hands. Shouko, for one, was rather overwhelmed by the random Chinese warlords gallivanting all over the place, astride galloping, snorting horses - horses, indoors! - but everything else, she supposed, was tolerable. The walls had been padded with brocaded, darkly crimson silk, and an enormous fountain, with a towering, twisted golden dragon spewing water from its mouth, stood center. There were children playing around - and in - the fountain, at least; as for the throne, a monstrosity of gleaming jade and gold, Shouko looked once, and decided never to do it again, lest she permanently blind her eyes.

Shou stayed close to Kyouko, and Shouko, deciding that now was as good a time as any to grab some dinner, made her way to the long buffet tables.

She hoped Shou would remember to convince Kyouko to star in his P.V. - because if he followed Kyouko around for the rest of the night (which Shouko had no doubt he intended on doing so) and _didn't _get her for his P.V….well, Shouko would let him stew in his own mess.

_I feel a headache coming on_, she thought, gazing at a line-up of decadent looking cakes. _Maybe some chocolate will help…?_

* * *

><p><em>More of this charity function to come. As always, forgive any typos and errors.<br>_


	3. Children of Tigers

_This, unfortunately, has been too long in coming. Many things have happened with me - personally, I'm going through a tough time. I don't plan for this to be too long...so, prayerfully, this story won't be longer than ten chapters. If that. Anyway, thank you all for reviewing, and bearing with me. This chapter was stupidly hard to write, and probably very confusing as a result. I'm not too happy with it, but here it is._

_On a side note, I must say that Jesus is epic, Ao no Exorcist is my new favorite anime, and the careful reader will remember that President Lory was named after the Lory bird (which I've never seen) and I've named his 'brother' with that information in mind._

* * *

><p>There were days when he couldn't decide if this was worth it. But it was, when he remembered.<p>

This was worth it, because there was nothing else for him. There was no going back, no returning to that old, discarded life, and, truly, he didn't want to return. Insane, haphazardly-executed charity events could be borne, so long as he could play the part of the successful, professional actor.

Still, it was difficult when the President was involved. Even Yashiro looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Ah…President, don't you think we should consider this…ah…some other time?"

And the President, astride a massive black horse, and layered in gold-edged crimson silk, regally waved a hand. "I'm afraid that there are certain things in life, dear Yashiro-san, which cannot wait. If you would escort Ren to the room of Silver Pools, I will rendezvous with you both in half an hour."

With that, the President turned his horse's head with a flick of elaborate, steel reins, and cantered off.

Yashiro released a breath. "Today of all days," he murmured, voice strained. "I wish the President would have mentioned this sooner. But I guess there isn't a choice."

"No," Ren amended. "There's a choice."

Yashiro glanced sidelong at him. "You're scheming something," the man said slowly. "Mind telling me what?"

"You'll see," he replied cryptically. His manager sighed, shaking his head, muttering something about insane plots and I'll need a drink after this.

As it so happened, the room of Silver Pools boasted a rather fine bar; Yashiro, after flicking a quick, long-suffering gaze in Ren's direction, peeled off to order a glass of wine. Ren hardly blamed the man – at the moment, he half wished he were at liberty to imbibe in a glass or so himself. But Ren knew better; he needed to play this game completely sober, with his wits sharp, or he wouldn't escape this alive…

…Nor would the President, or anyone else at LME. Ren had known this would happen sometime in his career, and he had made the proper preparations long ago. But he still wondered, after all of these years, if those preparations would be enough to keep everything from collapsing down on their ears…

But worrying right now would do very little. Acting was his shield; and so he would act, and hope that when the President arrived, things would be going smoothly in the direction Ren desired.

It was good, then, that he had experience with negotiations, because the man in the gray suit – a somber, crisp gray, so dark in the brilliant crimson light of the room – was a master. Ren had only met him once, but once had been enough; where the President was difficult to circumvent, and an expert at his own manipulations, this man was in a different league. Tora, of White Shogun Enterprises, the tiger of the modeling world, had devoured one agency after another with little expanded effort.

"I imagine it has been a long night for you, Tsuruga-san," said a voice, darker than that gray suit. "Please have a seat."

The table was simply but elegantly configured – silk napkins delicately folded around plates of silver, and tiny candles set carefully between each plate. It was well into the evening – drawing close to midnight– but a full course of dinner had been laid out, along with tall flutes of champagne.

"So," said that voice, slowly and with languor, "Lory seems to have an aversion to promptness. Now that I have at least you here, Tsuruga-san, allow me to formally introduce my star talent."

The man stood, one hand reaching into the shadows behind him. A woman, lithe and long-legged and dressed in black, emerged with grace from that patch of shadow. If Tora was the predator stalking the grasses of the entertainment industry, this woman was a predator-in-training – a young panther, sleek and dangerous. Ren smiled gently. At the moment, smiling was appropriate, because he knew that the President wasn't going to make it in time, and Ren was here, alone, with the one man who could tear LME to pieces.

"I present to you Kyouko, the rising sun of my Youth-section," Tora said smoothly. The man grinned like some proud parent – like a tiger with his cub. "Kyouko, this is the wonderful Tsuruga Ren, the face of LME."

The woman – _no_, Ren amended inwardly, _she's young, nothing but a girl_– gazed at him with eyes of violet, cool and calm and perfectly unimpressed. "It's good to meet you at last, Tsuruga-san."

_If only I could say the same._The girl was a beauty, but that was hardly surprising; Tora was known for acquiring only the loveliest of women for his agency. But ultimately, this Kyouko was unimportant. Ren had little doubt that Tora had brought her merely to be a distraction – a foolish mistake. Ren wasn't sure how much research Tora had done on him, but it obviously wasn't enough, if the man thought that a pretty face could be used against him.

"Before we get to business," Tora said, "I would ask a question of you, Tsuruga-san. Are you content?"

Ren was almost tempted to answer immediately and without a second's thought – quick, sure answers were the best method when dealing with overly ambitious reporters and snoopy talk show hosts. But he would be a fool to use such a method with Tora; so for a long moment, he remained silent, considering.

"I have everything that I will ever need." That, at least, was something close to the truth. He had freedom here, away from the darkness of his former life. And it was enough.

"That's undeniable. But are you content?" The man leaned back, his long, lean fingers interlocking into a steeple. "You're a private person, there's no doubt of that, but it doesn't take much…discernment, to see that you aren't exactly happy."

Ren fought back a frown. The Head of White Shogun Enterprises was far more straight-foward than Ren had expected. Was this the point where the man invited him to switch sides, to betray the President, and acquiesce to a new, more fulfilling contract with his agency?

If Tora believed that he could offer anything that would compel Ren to leave LME, then the man had severely underestimated Ren - and Ren, who was no stranger to the subtleties of battle, would take full advantage of Tora's misstep.

"I am happy when the need calls for it," Ren said simply.

"Interesting answer. Perhaps now you expect me to ask you to compromise your loyalties?" Tora's smile was grim. "I'm not surprised you think so little of me. You owe Lory your life - if not for him, your fortunes would have been far different, and Japan would have never heard of 'Tsuruga Ren.' I have no intention of offering you a position in my agency. I won't waste my breath. You came here expecting a fight - as did Lory, no doubt, seeing as he has yet to show his face - but I merely want to talk. I am, after all, a man of peace."

The model, Kyouko, glanced at Tora, her face expressionless, but her eyes darkening. It seemed as though she knew that the man was lying, too - Tora was as much a man of peace as Lory was a man who preferred to go incognito.

"Then you have no plans of taking over LME?" Ren heard a distant gasp from Yashiro, but he ignored it. There was little sense in subtlety, and Ren honestly didn't want to spend the rest of the night beating around the bush.

Tora shook his head. "Not quite," he said. "I would like to ally my agency to LME, actually. I suppose Lory failed to mention it to you - again, not surprising. Lory has never been overly fond of me, or of the principles my agency stands for."

Ren released a breath. The Head of White Shogun Enterprises knew how to lie, and lie very well. There was a plot here, a serious one, but it wasn't as obvious as Ren had first thought. LME was in danger, there was no getting around that, but…there was something that he wasn't seeing, something that was important.

"I am not your enemy," Tora said, and his intense gaze briefly flickered to Kyouko, and then back to Ren. "I am here to repay a favor to Lory, but for that, I need your cooperation. There is a series of commercials in the works…commercials that will, most assuredly, garner great success so long as you are in them, Tsuruga-san."

A part of Ren knew immediately that it would be very foolish indeed to accept this offer of Tora's, but the other part - the part that was fully aware that Tora, for all that the man had said otherwise, was most certainly scheming the destruction of LME - came close to snapping up the offer like a starving fish.

"I need time to review my schedule," Ren said_. And even more time to actually think. I hope Yashiro was taking notes…  
><em>  
>"Review away, Tsuruga-san," Tora said. The man idly unwrapped a pair of chopsticks from a folded napkin, suddenly looking very much disinterested in any further conversation. "I do believe, however, that you won't need too much time to come to a decision."<p>

He stood. There was nothing more to say, and though Ren was well-accustomed to working with a lack of sleep, he felt weary enough that he wanted to be home, in the relative comfort of his apartment, and well away from all of…this.

Kyouko gazed up at him, her eyes half-lidded. For a second, a feeling of dark insidiousness rolled over him.

"Have a good night, Tsuruga-san," she murmured.

* * *

><p>She arrived early, well before noon, and the studio was appropriately empty. She found a place to sit - near a tall window - to review one of <em>Dark Moon's <em>scripts. The drama was nearing the final arc of its storyline, and though Kanae had memorized every inch of each episode's scripts, it was for the cathartic effect that she reread it now. The studio, warm with sunlight, was the perfect place to unwind after the…insanity, of last night. Kanae had never thought she would be grateful that she was more-or-less an unknown - _Dark Moon _and the few commercials she'd done had pushed her into a position that most would call "rising star" status, but Kanae was well aware that she was still a nobody, when it came down to it - but the President's charity event had forced her to reevaluate her fortunes.

_If I'd known that the President treated his star talentos like that, I would have tried for another agency! _Kanae thought, gritting her teeth.

It was strange to think that she had been safe (more or less) because of her anonymity. The President – garbed in that disturbingly brilliant red and gold getup, like some Chinese Emperor – had taken hold of all of his most prominent celebrities, and had put them on display in the most humiliating fashion possible. Kanae, who wished that she could burn the memory of last night from her mind, thought of dogs. The obnoxiously cute, overly fluffy little mongrels that idiots liked to exhibit in stupid, mind-numbing shows…

_All of LME's celebrity elite are nothing but dogs to him! Pets! Foolishly loyal mutts to be used for his insane pleasure!_

Kanae fumed, and thought. After months of dabbling in LME's acting school, the President had finally allowed her into his talento section – and literally, within the space of a few hours, she had landed a role in the remake of Tsukigamori, _Dark Moon. _Only an utter cretin would call that luck; the President had clearly been watching her, scrutinizing her progress, and only when he had deemed her ready had he given Kanae a role, and not just any role, either. _Dark Moon _had the potential to surpass its predecessor – and Tsukigamori was one of the most successful dramas in Japanese history. Kanae knew she should be grateful – any normal person would be, and before last night, she had been.

But Kanae refused to become anyone's pet. She had suffered enough humiliation in her months-long struggle to become an LME talento, and the very thought of enduring more embarrassment for the rest of her career…was utterly, and completely, intolerable.

_I don't have to worry about it yet. _Kanae glared at the flowing lines of the script, and had her fingers clenched it any tighter, she might have ripped it in half. _After I properly debut, I can always switch agencies. _

"How odd. I thought I would be the only early one here, and yet you've beaten me."

Kanae jerked, and it was only a careful bit of effort that kept her from jumping in fright. The _Dark Moon _script slipped from her fingers.

A woman, dark-eyed and with hair an impossible shade of palest blonde, reached down for the script. "Catching up on some reading, Kotonami-san?"

If Kanae had been of the superstitious sort, she would have been terribly – _deathly – _afraid. Not at the fact that this woman knew her name (Kanae had seen her once before, last night, at the LME charity event; it was no great leap of logic that the woman had somehow learned it. _Somehow._) Nor did the fear stem from the woman's odd, thoroughly eerie appearance – though admittedly, if Kanae believed in ghosts or similar foolishness, she would have certainly thought this woman could pass for some spirit, popping out of nowhere like that.

No. It was the malice. Kanae briefly toyed with the idea that this woman could easily play the part of a serial killer, because she _felt _like one. The studio wasn't dark, not exactly – so close to noon, there was an overabundance of sunlight – but this woman had materialized out of nowhere, and Kanae was sure that there was no way anyone could just appear. Anyone who wasn't some sort of demonic spirit, anyway.

"I don't think we were properly introduced," the woman said. "I'm Kyouko."

Kanae waited, but the woman said nothing further. Had she not been so perfectly freaked out, Kanae would have spat out the first thing that came to mind, _I know who you are. Some airheaded, stupidly conceited model, who somehow managed to worm her way into this P.V. on good looks alone, while the rest of us had to struggle, and fight, and use every ounce of talent we possessed – _

Kyouko tilted her head. "I never would have thought you to be the quiet type, Kotonami-san. You seem so…different, on Dark Moon. But I'm sure that can be attributed to your acting skills, and not your true nature."

Kanae blinked. "What do you want?" It was rude of her, yes, but Kanae couldn't shake the instinctual feeling that this woman was dangerous – no normal person could slink out of practically nonexistent shadows.

"To speak with you," Kyouko said. "We will be working together for the next several days, so I thought a conversation with you would do us both good. Actually, I had wanted to talk to you last night, but you had seemed…preoccupied."

Preoccupied? What an understatement. Kanae had spent most of the night in hiding, just in case the President suddenly remembered that she was now a part of his talento section, and therefore fair game for his…pageant show. Hiding hadn't been the most dignified of solutions, but at least Kanae had escaped being stuffed in ribbons and frills and disgusting, overly glitzy gold ornaments.

"Listen," Kanae said slowly, silently hoping that this woman would just leave. "I'm grateful that you want to talk to me and all, but I really have a lot of studying to do, and – "

"Our conversation won't take long," said Kyouko. "I just have a few questions. Once we're done, I'm sure that you'll have plenty of time for studying. Especially since you memorize scripts so easily."

And Kyouko sat, and spoke, and Kanae struggled to keep herself from entertaining ideas of retreat – there was little sense in denying that she was afraid any longer, but a tiny part of her (the calm, sensible part) whispered that it was better not to show fear. So some stranger knew Kanae's name, knew that Kanae had a near photographic memory, and was, in the full sense of the word, _freaky_. Big deal.

An hour later, Kanae wished she had run, and never looked back.

Kyouko knew everything about her.

And it wasn't just the stupid little things. The things Kyouko knew, Kanae had never told anyone else, things that she had kept hidden, things that she had prayed no one would ever discover. So Kanae waited, tensing like a rabbit before the steels jaws of a trap. After a time, Kanae couldn't stand it anymore.

"Are you a stalker?" Kanae asked point-blank. She had thought that it would be a bit further down into her career before overly ambitious fans became a problem, but fate always did have a malicious habit of proving her wrong.

For a second, Kyouko smiled – a true, genuine smile. "It does seem that way, doesn't it? But no. I am just very well-informed."

"Then you want something," Kanae said. "Well, blackmailing me won't get you anything – "

"Actually, I think it will." Kyouko stood, and the motion reminded Kanae of a snake uncoiling itself to strike. The sunlight of the studio suddenly dimmed. "I want you as an ally, Kotonami-san. You are positioned in a place where you could be of great use to me, and as much as I would have preferred to win your friendship, I am not so stupid. I know you believe me to be a no-talented, ignorant leech with a pretty face, and if you had your choice, you would not even associate yourself with me. And I understand. But know that you will help me. I have a very specific agenda, and you have the intelligence and the skill to aid me in that agenda."

Kanae swallowed, and said slowly, "And if I refuse?"

Kyouko's violet eyes were hard. "You won't," she said, her voice a sinister whisper. "You're too ambitious, Kotonami-san. The rewards for helping me will be very great, indeed. Perhaps you might even move on to a bigger, better agency – one that wouldn't keep such a talented individual like yourself in some pathetic acting school for a year."

A shiver rolled down Kanae's spine. _Why does this sound like a threat?_

"Think about it, Kotonami-san. But, if you wouldn't mind, please don't keep me waiting for too long." Kyouko tilted her head to the side. "Hm. Looks like we have company."

Everything seemed suddenly…brighter, and Kanae blinked. In the distance, she saw a mass of people streaming into the studio – and a tall, swaggering, blonde haired man striding at the fore of that mass.

Fuwa Shou. With a quick glance at her watch, she realized that the man was actually on-time. _Interesting_, she thought._ His sort usually like to be fashionably late…_

"Our conversation is at an end, I believe," said Kyouko. The woman sounded almost…regretful, Kanae decided. "What a shame. I enjoyed speaking with you. You and I shall be good friends, Kotonami-san. I can just feel it."

Kanae released a breath. "If you think so." _It's not like I have much of a choice._

* * *

><p>There were vines of madly blooming roses, dripping with petals of crimson, of black, of gold. Mimori didn't quite understand why the set needed a field of real flowers, but then she remembered that this wasn't an ordinary undertaking. Several weeks back, when her manager had approached her with the offer – <em>Fuwa Shou's<em> offer, extended by his very hand! Or, at least, something close to it – Mimori had accepted it so quickly her head had literally spun(and had fainted, but there was only a tiny bump on the back of her head as evidence). She hadn't, however, given any thought to the specifics of the P.V. – but now, standing in Akatoki's most elaborate, most expensive studio, she felt utterly stupid that she hadn't realized that this was going to be _special._

"There you are, Mimori-san."

Aki Shouko emerged from a cluster of flowering bushes, her hair and clothes somewhat rumpled.

"Oh. Did you need me for something, Shouko-san?"

Shouko brushed a twig from her shoulder. "Yes. Since everyone's mostly settled in, I thought that it might be a good idea for the cast to introduce themselves. Would you mind meeting with everyone in the dining hall? Everyone can have lunch and get properly acquainted."

Immediately, Mimori thought of Shou, of eating with Shou, and her knees went weak. "I wouldn't mind at all, Shoko-san."

The studio's dining hall was nondescript and simple – darkly crimson curtains were pulled back to allow for the entrance of radiant sunlight, and a single, long black table dominated the room. Mimori slid into a cushy leather chair, and Shouko sat directly across from her.

"Umm…Shouko-san," Mimori said apprehensively, "where is everyone else?"

"On their way," Shouko said.

"But…" Shou wasn't here? Why?

"No need to worry, Mimori-san," Shouko said, gingerly removing her designer glasses, and placing them on the table. "I sent everyone off to read the script, so they should be here in a few minutes. Including Shou." The woman sighed softly, and whispered something under her breath. Mimori barely caught it, but it sounded suspiciously like _that is, if he isn't flirting his head off. _

Mimori twitched. Shou, flirting? With whom?

"…Anyway, since you already have the script, Mimori-san, which character interests you the most?"

Mimori frowned. Was that a trick question? Her manager, who had possessed the incredible foresight to ask for the script weeks in advance, had agreed with Mimori that the part of the angel was the most intriguing. Mimori had read and reread the script nearly a dozen times (more often than she had read any other script) and was familiar with each of the four characters of the P.V., but the angel she thought about even when she went to sleep – she dreamed of him, the celestial being who journeyed down to the depths of the earth, seeking to liberate souls lost in the clasp of darkness.

Still, Shouko didn't want to know what Mimori thought of the _male _role of the P.V.; Shou would play the angel, and Mimori – along with Kotonami Kanae, and some semi-famous model whose name Mimori had never bothered to learn – would take the part of one of the three demon sisters.

"Well…" Mimori said slowly, her frown deepening, "aren't they all basically the same? The devil women, I mean."

Shouko gave her a startled look. "The same? Mimori-san, have you looked over the whole script?"

Mimori flushed hot with embarrassment. "Of course I have. I'm a professional, Shouko-san."

"Then you know what comes in the end…?"

"Yes. After the angel convinces the first two demon sisters to renounce their ways and come to the light, he goes after the third. But the last demon sister is the hardest to sway, and so the angel remains in the realm of darkness, dying slowly as he attempts to woo her into the light. When the angel nears his last breath, the demon sister, moved by his compassion, leaves the realm of darkness and returns to the realm of light with the angel at her side – "

"Now I understand," said Shouko. "You didn't get the new script, did you? I thought we had forwarded it to your manager, but I guess she didn't receive it."

Mimori went still. A new script?

"Here," murmured Shouko, sliding over a sheaf of newly bound paper. "We made some last minute changes. The overall script is mostly the same, but the final act has been…modified, a little."

Quickly flipping to the script's end, Mimori skimmed the last of the lines – and nearly choked. She read it again, just to be sure she wasn't losing her mind.

_And the angel,__ so close to ultimate victory, realized his defeat. The devil would not be convinced, would not be stirred from her realm of darkness. Her cold, hate filled heart would not soften, and she stood unmoved by his offer of light, and not even his strongest pleas stirred her._

_But he would not leave. Death awaited him in the darkness, but he would not leave._

_And so the angel was tempted into shadow; his love for the devil had damned him for all eternity._

When Mimori could breathe once more, she sat shaking, on the very edge of fainting. The revisions of the script had transformed a story of redemption into a dark, disturbing romance. And it was perfect.

Mimori was going to be the third devil sister. She could already see it – she and Shou, tragic lovers doomed to a life of darkness. Well, the darkness part wasn't exactly her cup of tea, but so long as it was with Shou, Mimori could certainly deal with it.

"Have you decided, Mimori-san?" Shouko asked. The woman looked vaguely worried about something.

"The last one," Mimori said automatically. "I want to be the last devil sister."

Shouko sighed again, closing her eyes. "I was afraid of that. You do know that there is going to be a..."

Mimori heard the words – her mind registered them, computed them, and then promptly short-circuited. Later, when she regained consciousness, Shouko would tell her that she had fallen to the floor in a dead faint, twitching and murmuring Shou's name over and over again in prayerful awe.

* * *

><p>She had found a place away from everyone – away from Kanae, who had been all too happy to slink off anyway; away from Shouko, who gazed at her with a strange mixture of fear and hope; and most of all, away from Shou. An odd, nauseating swirl of emotions rose within her each time she saw his face. Faint traces of the quiet, meek Kyouko came to the surface whenever she thought of him – and that was utterly unacceptable. That Kyouko had her place; she was a mask to be used for the occasions when she was under the eye of Tsuruga Ren, or Yashiro-san, or the President. That Kyouko was the perfect disguise. But she wasn't that person any longer, and once her business with LME was settled, she would discard the weak, biddable Kyouko completely.<p>

But first, there was Shoutaro to contend with. His P.V. presented her with the perfect opportunity – but she had to be careful. She would not commit to vengeance in one fell swoop; it was better to wait, to draw it out, until that final, perfect moment, when Shou would be at his most vulnerable.

She thought of the Head's words. _Hatred requires patience, my dear. The bird that falls openly from the sky is seen by all, and while it eats its seed, it is taken by the serpent in the grass that it did not notice. But the tiger stalks in darkness, waiting for its prey to enter the shadows. And then it strikes, and feeds upon the heart of its quarry, with no one the wiser to its presence…_

Stalking would be the easy part. She had to get close enough to Shou that she would not miss when she sprung; the claws and fangs of the tiger were useless if they didn't find the throat of the deer.

Waiting for the chance to strike was harder – especially considering the nature of this P.V., and the part that Kyouko feared she would be forced to play.

_But maybe I won't have to take it_. Kyouko gazed solemnly at the P.V.'s script. _Kanae isn't the sort to act lovey-dovey roles, but she is beautiful enough for the part. Nanokura Mimori certainly wouldn't be adverse to a love scene with Shoutaro, if those rumors of her are true._

It would come down to Shoutaro, she knew, since he was calling the shoots; hopefully he would be taken in by Kanae's lovely, sculpted features, or by Mimori's eager affection for him.

Even so, if Shoutaro did by some chance choose Kyouko for the part of the last demon sister, it would not affect her plans in the least.

Idly, she slid a finger over the final line of the script. Her teeth clenched, and a cold, calm fury caressed the length of her spine.

_The angel, lost to the realm of light, emb__raced the darkness. And the devil, her hard heart briefly moved by his fall from grace, kissed him in the shadows of hell._


	4. Heart of the Demon

So, I know I haven't updated for a long, long time...and, therefore, I decided to post a chapter before the turn of 2012, though I know I'm cutting it close. Happy New Year to all of you, and please forgive any typos and errors, because I know this chapter is full of them.

On to the story.

* * *

><p>She stood upon the height of the set, thinking. Her hair waved in the wind, the new extensions winding and twisting; with a hand, she pushed them back, and, not for the first time, wondered if all of this was necessary.<p>

_No_, she thought. _None of it was ever necessary, except to feed Shoutarou's ego._

Both Kanae and Mimori were still in the dressing rooms, getting into costume. She supposed that now was as good a time as any to return back to the dressing rooms herself, to finish her transformation into the demon. But something held her, a hesitation, and she bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood. Gingerly, she wiped her lip, her blood leaving a dark crimson stain along the skin of her finger.

Kyouko didn't want to go back. For the first time since the birth of her career, she found herself unwilling - no, perhaps _unable _was the better word - to fulfill the responsibilities of a job. There was the signed contract, the legal repercussions that would inevitably follow with her refusal - that held her, the thought of the Head, who had done so much for her, contending with lawyers and the media, all because she could overcome this single emotion. She had though herself better, more advanced - a new Kyouko far superior to the old. Once, emotions and baser feelings had bound her, contained her so fully that she had been incapable of being independent, incapable of living for herself. She didn't want to go back to that; she couldn't be the Kyouko who lived to please, who waited in the background for good to happen to someone else.

She was in danger now - she could taste it, the foul bile of an uncontrollable emotion. It was different from before - nothing like the abundant, sickening affection of her old self, when she had served both Shoutaro; different, even, from the hate she now nurtured in her heart, day and night.

Similar to hate, yes, but terrifying. She shook, her hand clenching.

Frustration. A helpless, hate-filled frustration - that was it. Kyouko was trapped, caged, and unsure of her next step.

_Breathe. _Kyouko closed her eyes. She had not thought it would be this difficult - she had not thought that Shoutarou's face would bring her stabbing flashes of pain, whenever she saw him.

She would not disappoint the Head. All eyes were on her, truly on her, and if she faltered in this P.V., her career would take a fatal blow.

After all, the Head was not known for his forgiveness. If he believed that Kyouko was in danger of disgracing him, of marring the name of White Shogun Enterprises…

_He would drop me faster than Shoutaro._

She turned, walking off of the massive set, forcing down that nauseating emotion. Cold hatred replaced the frustration, enveloped her, until she could think beyond her fear of the Head's rejection.

So long as Kyouko was an asset, there was no need to fear the Head's wrath. So long as she remained focused, she would be safe.

Kyouko was all too well aware that she was only a means to an end - the Head was using her for his own purposes, and as long as she played his game, he would allow her to exact the vengeance she had desired for so long. Kyouko was not stupid enough to believe that the Head kept her in his agency for anything else except that - nor would she make the mistake of thinking she was valuable to him, valuable to anyone.

_I need this. Everything else can burn, so long as Shoutaro falls to me._

* * *

><p>Kotonami Kanae wasn't much of a talker. Ordinarily, that would not have proven to be a problem, except that now, after Mimori had <em>seen<em>, she was bursting to speak with someone, anyone, even a stoic, unapproachable nobody like Kanae.

"Do you know that…woman?"

Kanae leveled a cold gaze upon her. "'That woman?'"

"The model. Kyouko," Mimori pressed. _That evil, role-stealing witch - _

"The one who works for White Shogun Enterprises, you mean. Ranked tenth in Top Model magazine, considered the seventh most beautiful face in Japan…"

All of this Kanae said in a soft monotone, like she just didn't care. Couldn't be made to care. Mimori didn't understand.

"No, no. Not like that," Mimori said. "I mean, do you know her personally?"

Something flickered within Kanae's eyes - something that deepened the dark, emerald green contacts that had been applied to her irises, minutes before - and the woman slowly stiffened. "I met her yesterday. Beyond that, I know nothing of her personal life that hasn't already been touted by the media."

She was hiding something. Mimori could tell, despite Kanae's cool aloofness, her expressionless face. _Is she trembling? _Mimori wondered, gazing at Kanae's fingers.

"Well, what do you think of her?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Mimori wanted to take them back. Kanae cast her a sharp, penetrating look, and Mimori held her breath, hoping Kanae wouldn't think her to be some sort of creepy, obsessive fan -

"I think she's someone to avoid," Kanae said. Mimori swallowed her surprise. _That_ wasn't the answer she'd been expecting. "If she carries all of the power of White Shogun Enterprises, it's better if we give her room to work, and mind our own business outside of the P.V.," Kanae murmured under her breath, almost as though she were speaking to herself. Her eyes refocused on Mimori. "Shouldn't you be in the dressing rooms?"

That gave Mimori a jolt. Kanae was right - it was Mimori's turn at the dressing rooms, now that Kanae was finished. Really, Mimori should have gone into the dressing rooms several minutes ago; and she would have, had it not been for that heinous memory which plagued her, lingering behind her eyes, taunting her…

Mimori blinked, grinding her teeth that woman had ruined everything! Shou wouldn't have chosen her, had it not been for the clout of White Shogun Enterprises - Shou had just been afraid, that was it. He was a risen star, at the top of the billboard charts, the best singer this side of the world. It would have been stupid to risk ruining that, al of the sake of one P.V.; Mimori understood. It had taken her nearly an hour of crying, and another hour of her manager's cajoling, but she had finally understood and accepted things. After all, it wasn't Shou's fault.

It was because of that filth, Kyouko, and her pushy agency that Mimori had been regulated to a lesser role in Shou's P.V., when she deserved the best. But Mimori wouldn't let that stop her - she and Shou were destined to be together, and she'd be damned if she allowed some sleazy, pale-haired model to destroy that…

_Not that Shou would want someone like that, when he has me_, Mimori thought. She then realized that Kanae was still gazing at her, expecting an answer.

"Yes," Mimori said. "I'm going right now."

* * *

><p><em>I'm tired already, <em>Shouko mused inwardly to herself, _and the morning's not even halfway done._

But that was only to be expected, she supposed. Shou was usually a professional when it came to his work, even if he acted the childish playboy the rest of the time. However, when you factored in two starlets - both of whom were attractive - and the representative of the greatest modeling agency in the history of Japan, things were bound to get dicey…

At least the preparations for the set had been completed. Shouko toyed with her food (balls of seasoned rice, fresh light soup, and grilled strips of fish), half listening to Haruki's agitated rant.

"- and then I caught him flirting with the costume coordinators! I don't think it could have been twenty minutes after he'd had that argument with the director…"

Shouko fiddled a bit with her chopsticks, deciding on a particularly sticky looking rice ball, before popping it into her mouth. Haruki's words suddenly slowed, and she blinked at Shouko incredulously.

"Are you even listening?"

"Certainly I am," Shouko replied after delicately swallowing the rice ball. "But you do realize that we only have a few minutes to eat, and neither of us will get anything resembling a break today, right? So I suggest that you try to eat something. You're going to need the energy."

Haruki continued to stare, before she finally closed her eyes and nodded. "Right, right."

For a charmed, blissful few minutes, they ate in silence. Shouko, once she had finished the last of her soup, moved on to the third course of her meal - a small cake, white with thick layers of icing, topped with shavings of dark chocolate. Ruefully, she unwrapped a silver spoon, wondering when she'd become so enamored of western desserts - probably, if had occurred the moment she had signed on as Shou's manager.

Unsurprisingly, the moment her spoon slid into the luscious denseness of her cake, the director burst into the dining hall, face absolutely livid.

"That arrogant puppy of yours," the man hissed, "has insulted me for the last time. I hope you have some sort of contingency plan, because I quit."

Haruki looked alarmed, but Shouko merely gazed levelly at him. "And your contract?"

"You are free to sue me, if it pleases you," he replied, with a snarl. "Good day to you both."

When he left, slamming the door violently behind him, Shouko released a sigh.

"Well. I was wondering when he would crack," she said, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "But he did last longer than I'd expected."

"You knew this would happen?" Haruki asked, shock lacing her voice.

"Of course. This is, after all, Shou's PV." _And Shou doesn't play nice if he thinks he should be the one in control._

"So what are we going to do? We can't get this PV done without a director, and there isn't time to hire a new one…"

Shouko smiled. "I've heard that you have some experience yourself with directing, Haruki-san."

Haruki went very, very still. "You had this planned from the beginning, didn't you?" she whispered finally. "I never knew you could be so devious…"

_Neither did I, _Shouko thought. _Neither did I…_

* * *

><p>Her cell phone rang, disturbing the calm lull of the silence; before the second ring, she had it pressed to her ear.<p>

"Hello, Head," Kyouko said quietly. The cell phone was from him - a gift, one that had been given for the express purpose of control. The Head controlled her, and she didn't mind; he, out of all of the people in her life, had given her meaning. So this phone was for him, and only him.

"Hello, my dear," came his voice, soft and deep and oddly gentle. "I have a proposition for you."

"Anything, Head."

"I have scheduled you to have dinner tomorrow night with Tsuruga Ren. Seven o'clock sharp, at the Ritz."

Kyouko went still. _That's the same time as…_

"There won't be any problems, yes, my dear?"

"No," she answered, frightfully aware that she could deny the Head nothing. "No problems at all."

"Very good. Tsuruga-san isn't a man to be easily impressed, but I'm certain you're up to the challenge."

"Yes, Head."

Their conversation was at an end. The Head's whisper of 'I know you won't disappoint me, my girl,' was soothing, and she was nearly able to forget her inner turmoil. First Shoutaro, who should not have had the power to hurt her any longer, but strangely - and infuriatingly - did; and now she would have to play the game with Tsuruga-san, the man who had forced her to see the truth of her pathetic life…

_Hold yourself together_. She had not gotten this far by falling apart whenever things got difficult, and she wasn't about to change now.

A slim slip of a woman came forward and bowed, stammering a soft, breathy apology. Everything was behind schedule, the woman said as she nervously scraped her short hair away from her forehead, and Mimori-san had taken longer than was usual getting into costume -

"I understand," Kyouko said, wanting to put the woman (her costume-coordinator, apparently) at ease. The woman stopped speaking, staring at her with eyes full of stark disbelief. She was not used to kindness, it seemed, unaccustomed to gentle words. Unsurprising, for this studio _did _belong to Akatoki, an agency known for its power, but not compassion.

Immediately, Kyouko decided that she liked this woman, her costume coordinator, because she reminded Kyouko of herself. The days when Kyouko had been unappreciated, treated as less than trash…she felt for her costume-coordinator, and inwardly decided that she would speak to her as a friend, because God only knew how many people spoke to this woman with any ounce of civility. She asked for the woman's name, and received a mumbled, "Midori, ma'am."

"Good to know. Please take care of me, Midori-san," Kyouko murmured, looking the woman directly in the eye. Midori looked slightly taken aback, before she nodded shyly, and set to work.

What followed was one of the fastest preparations Kyouko had ever experienced. Midori deftly wove the fabric of Kyouko's elaborate costume into place, delicately folding and pinning sheets of dark silk and crimson velvet, and winding thin chains of silver down Kyouko's arms. And then, swift as a whirlwind, Midori took to Kyouko's face, applying make-up with feather-light slashes of a tiny brush. The contacts - of a vermillion red deep enough to make Kyouko think of blood - Midori offered to Kyouko, which she gingerly popped into her own eyes. There was more slashing of the make-up brush, before Midori powdered her skin with some sort of lustrous, dust-like substance.

All the while, Kyouko made conversation. Midori was hesitant at first, eyes flicking nervously at Kyouko, but slowly she responded to Kyouko's questions.

"Four years," she said to Kyouko's first query.

"Four years is a long time to have worked for Akatoki," Kyouko replied. "Do you enjoy your work?"

"Yes," Midori said, fingers teasing the silvery feathers that were woven into the shoulders of Kyouko's costume. "I enjoy my work a lot. You're…you're the first person who has ever asked me that, actually."

_Am I? _Kyouko wondered, watching Midori out of the corner of her eye. _I'm the first celebrity to actually care, more like. _

"You must be excited," Midori blurted out suddenly, taking the last swipe of a comb through Kyouko's pale hair. "To be working with Fuwa Shou, I mean."

"Ah," Kyouko said softly, neither affirming or denying. The very thought of Shoutaro turned her stomach, and gave rise to memories that were better left buried.

"He is…very excited to be working with you." Midori had moved out of sight, still toying with Kyouko's hair - which was, all things considered, a good thing. Had she not moved, Midori would have seen Kyouko's face…and Kyouko knew that would have been very bad, for most people were in love with Shou, most people adored him, adored his music, adored his bad-boy image -

If Midori had seen her face, Kyouko's careful planning, the machinations she had nurtured for so long, would have been ruined. She felt a hot surge of hatred twist her features, but she could do nothing to stop it; luckily for her, Midori continued to stand behind her, adjusting strands of hair just so, murmuring inane little comments about Shou. That he, out of all of them, had taken the longest to prepare, but it had been worth it, for he was beautiful; that his voice, even when he was merely speaking, was hypnotic, much like the soul-searing songs he was famous for; that, in the last moments of his preparation, he had spoken at length about Kyouko, lauding her loveliness, her talent, the sheer poise she had on the runway, the way she moved graceful like a panther on the hunt…

"He said all of that?" Kyouko's voice was low, harsh.

Midori, apparently, realized that she had said too much. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…I think my mouth ran away with itself."

"Don't be sorry," Kyouko hissed, realizing that she was angry, but it wasn't Midori's fault. She remembered the events of yesterday, the events that she had wanted to forget, for the sake of getting this job done.

Fate, it seemed, wouldn't allow her to forget.

_Shouko gazed at her anxiously. The woman had seen, and so had Mimori, who had been hiding close, very close, as though she had thought Kyouko hadn't noticed her sneaking about. Kyouko had noticed, but the concern she'd had for Mimori had paled before the threat of Shou._

_He had cornered her in the hall, beneath the tall, winding wooden staircase. And he had been too close, whispered that he'd wanted to speak with her - and his eyes had been dark, disturbingly so, his irises gleaming black._

_She had gazed at him with imperious eyes - eyes like the Head's, eyes that were fierce and dangerous, for all the good that had done her. Kyouko had thought that would keep him at bay…that, and the blatant hatred that reared within her at the sight of him, her ex-fiancée, the man who had so cruelly discarded her, the man who had nearly destroyed her world._

_A mistake. Shou did not feel her hatred - he did not recognize her, was ignorant of the fact that she was the same Kyouko that he had cursed as plain, boring, utterly useless, a pathetic woman without an ounce of sex-appeal. The moment his hand touched her elbow, and his fingers had caressed her face, she had known the danger. He had moved in close, and she hadn't known what to do - what was he doing? She was Kyouko, the same person he had tossed out into the streets, with only a box of her belongings, the same person he had told to get out, to never come into his presence again. But he was close, his lips too close, but she was paralyzed, emotions chaotic, memory assaulting her - _

"_Shou! What are you doing?"_

_And so Shouko had saved her. Mimori's horrified squeak echoed deafeningly in Kyouko's ears. At the sound of Shouko's voice, Shou slowly, mercifully, backed away._

"_You've always had excellent timing, Shouko," he said in a tone dripping with sarcasm. _

_But Shouko did, truly, have excellent timing. If not for her, then Shou would have…_

"Finished," said Midori, and she gestured to the dressing room's mirror.

And in the mirror, Kyouko saw, stood a demon.

_And a demon_, Kyouko thought, _can certainly stand to Shou._


	5. Devouring the Angel

So, an update. I don't really like this chapter, but hopefully the next chapter will make up for this chapter's suckiness. Hopefully. In any case, thank you to all of you who reviewed; and, to **Animefangirl95**, who pmed me...thank you, and I hope this answers your question.

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><p>The halls of LME were quiet. Or at least this hall, which led to the agency's cafeteria (or restaurant, if you wanted to be truthful. LME's cafeteria boasted five-star chefs, chandeliers of gold and fine crystal, chairs padded with lambskin leather, and was, for lack of better word, <em>glitzy<em>) in a rather haphazard, winding path. This was the long way 'round, which Kanae took often to avoid the insanity of the other halls. In her first few days at LME, she had been stupid enough to take the more regular routes - and she had paid the price. There were all too many celebrities traipsing the main halls with entourages of managers and agents and assistants and sycophants, each of whom did not have a problem shoving her aside like some sort of insect…that was, if they didn't catch sight of her face and realize that she was the President's new, hand-picked talento. Then they cooed over her, petted her like some wayward kitten, and graced her with stories of the dozens of nobodies who had become stars because of LME and the President.

It had been sickening. Absolutely nauseating. So when Kanae had discovered this hall, which was always relatively empty, she had claimed it for her own.

But today, there was a problem.

Someone was here, in her hall. Cleaning.

It was her. The girl who was LME's servant - slave, really, because did she even get paid for her efforts?

Kanae remembered her from the acting school. Quiet, mousy, boring. A doormat, especially compared to the other aspiring talentos, each of whom - while nothing close to true, established actors - emanated a sense of presence, radiated the glow of shining charisma. Kanae had only noticed her because of her plainness, because the girl almost constantly slipped beneath her eye. A nonentity, she was - and Kanae, against her better judgment, had pitied her.

And her name…Kanae couldn't remember her name. But perhaps that was for the best; it was better not to associate with the girl, who couldn't more removed from a celebrity if she'd tried.

_A wife_, Kanae thought absently. _She would do well being someone's housewife. Or a house-keeper. _

The floors of the hall were disgustingly clean. As were the windows. Kanae couldn't recall when she'd seen anything so pristine, and - when sunlight struck a surface just so - she found herself momentarily blinded. It couldn't be healthy, all of this glittering, shiny cleanness -

The girl, kneeling over the last unclean corner of the hall, took notice of Kanae's presence. There was a sudden smile, a slight widening of large amber eyes - the only striking feature the girl possessed - and the girl stood, brushing her filthy grey overalls and nervously fingering a bright red bandanna.

"Kotonami-san," the girl said in genially. Kanae was struck by the sheer pleasantness of her voice. How was it possible to be so happy, when you'd just spent your entire morning cleaning a hallway from top to bottom? "It's been a long time. How have are you?"

"Fine," Kanae answered, ignoring the sudden feeling of unease tracing her spine. _This girl is being entirely too familiar with me - _

"It's good to see you doing so well. I haven't spoken to you since you left the acting school. It hasn't been the same without you." A beaming smile broke across the girl's face, and Kanae was, for the barest moment, utterly stricken.

She had only ever spoken directly to the girl once. Once. And that encounter had been months ago - Kanae could barely remember it. But she did recall the girl's odd friendliness, her gentle demeanor, her soft voice - attributes that Kanae had held in immediate contempt. She had dismissed the girl then as a talent-less leech (albeit, a sweet talent-less leech) and had wondered, for the life of her, how the girl how wormed her way into LME's acting academy. In the weeks that had followed that initial encounter, Kanae had discovered the reason. This girl had cut some sort of deal with the President, it seemed…in exchange for her services as some sort of maid-servant-thing, the girl had been promised a chance at becoming one of LME's talentos.

Or so the rumors went. Kanae rarely placed much store in them, but she was anything if not observant, even of stupid gossip. _The President's charity case_, the girl was called, mostly by the agency's higher-ups; _a poor, pathetic little beggar_, which Kanae had heard on the lips of a rather prominent actor; _such a gentle, kind little thing, and she smiles even when she cleans my toilets_, to which Kanae had shuddered, had fought the desperate urge to vomit.

She had no doubt that she and this girl were the same age. The girl was like Kanae's counterpart, her mirror-opposite - she was a failure, everything Kanae fought tooth and nail not to be. Someone to distain, to avoid. Someone to look upon in absolute disgust.

And Kanae felt sorry for her, as she had no one else.

"I have a shoot today," Kanae said without preamble. The girl's wide amber eyes grew wider still. "It will last until mid-morning. After that, I have a two-hour slot for lunch. Are you free?"

"I…yes, Kotonami-san."

"There's a café down the street. Small, sells sandwiches. Meet me there."

The girl's smile was utterly brilliant. "Certainly, Kotonami-san."

* * *

><p>Convincing Yashiro-san had been difficult. He was no easy man to fool, but she had held two things in her favor - the first of which being that he was incredibly busy. Of the many managers she'd seen, he was the most meticulous in his schedules, and the most dedicated to the delicate execution of those schedules; there was hardly a moment when he wasn't on his phone, shifting and re-shifting timeslots for drama shoots and movie scenes and interviews. Kyouko rather suspected that he wore those gloves (durable rubber gloves, for the safety of his highly expensive, and highly breakable phone) to bed with him.<p>

The second advantage she possessed was sheer timing. It had been near three weeks since last she'd seen the man, much less spoken to him. Her sudden appearance, after such a long time of skipping off of his radar, had very nearly caught him off guard.

Even so, the dubious look that he'd given her hadn't been reassuring. "If you're sure, Kyouko-san," he'd said finally. "I could do it more easily myself, and you wouldn't…you wouldn't have to go through the trouble."

"I know," she'd replied. "I prefer it this way."

And Yashiro-san had acquiesced, like a knight before his princess. Truly, the man was more chivalrous than anyone else at LME; more honorable than most of the people Kyouko had met in her life.

For a moment - a very small moment – she almost felt ashamed, using him like this.

But feelings passed, as they always did. More and more, she found herself feeling nothing at all - except for the hatred, burning so coldly within. That she felt constantly, an eternal companion.

And so Yashiro-san had stood - she had forgotten how tall he was, especially in the confines of his rather cramped, if nicely organized, office - and had taken her directly to see Tsuruga Ren.

The actor was in LME's restaurant (covertly nicknamed the _Swan_ by LME staff. Kyouko understood the misnomer. The restaurant was grand and elegant, luxurious in its configuration, and there was a sense of serene, birdlike grace whenever you stepped foot inside. Not to mention the rather prominent statue of a pair of swans, one carved of black marble and the other of white, placed at the entrance of the restaurant, with long necks gracefully entwined). It was very strange, finding him here - the man rarely ate, and when he did, it was often food that was simply unhealthy.

She was very certain he preferred unhealthy food. Kyouko hadn't forgotten the trays of food she'd been forced to throw out after they had spent days spoiling in his refrigerator. Healthy trays of food. It hadn't bothered her, because Tsuruga Ren, after all, was merely a job. She wasn't paid to care if he actually ate anything of her prepared food. She was paid to cook, and only that; if she had cared, like the old Kyouko would have, a part of her would have been hurt, would have felt rejected, even.

Old Kyouko had been such a fool.

Upon their approach, Tsuruga Ren gazed up from the script he'd been reading. A new script, it looked like, for a new movie - and there had been no doubt in Kyouko's mind that he had every line memorized, that every inch of the script was now intensely familiar to him.

He was better than even Kanae, with her near photographic memory. In another league, in fact.

"To what do I owe the honor, Mogami-san?" That smile, insincere and alarming as always, crossed his lips. If Kyouko hadn't spoken to Yashiro-san in a long time, it had been even longer since she'd said a word to Tsuruga Ren - months, she was certain. He was no different from all the other jobs she'd held at LME - jobs in which she had been paid to work and never to speak, especially not to her clients, celebrities who had deemed themselves superior to her in everyway…

Absently, Kyouko felt her hand clench. Tsuruga Ren was no different from those people. No different from the rest of LME - and yet, she could still respect him. He, at least, was honest. Brutal, but honest.

"Kyouko-san has had an emergency come up, I'm afraid," said Yashiro-san. "She won't be able to attend to your meals for a time."

"Two weeks," she said quietly. "I hope to return by the end of the month."

"Oh?" He raised one dark, elegant eye-brow.

"I'm going back home," Kyouko said by way of explanation. "My mother has taken ill. I'm the only family she has left."

"So you believe a period of two weeks is sufficient to see her back to her feet, then. What if she doesn't recover by the end of those two weeks? That's certainly a possibility."

The smile was gone - his lips had thinned, and his eyes were searing, darker than before. His aura, always so uncomfortable whenever she was in his presence, became blatantly threatening.

He knew she was lying.

"I hope it won't come to that," she said. "But I will do what I must if it does."

"Yes. I'm sure you will." His gaze grew even darker, eyes very nearly black. "Take good care of your _mother_, Mogami-san."

Really, it shouldn't have been unexpected. Tsuruga Ren had known about Shoutarou, had known about her disastrous engagement. Somehow - _somehow_ - he was also aware of her mother, a woman who would sooner dip her foot into a pit of slime before she allowed Kyouko to touch her, much less tend her while sick. Not to mention that Kyouko had no home; Kyoto was Shoutarou's home, and always had been. Not hers. Not anymore.

"Thank you, Tsuruga-san," she said, voice soft. He knew the lie, but he could do nothing to call her out on it, not with Yashiro-san here.

Which worked out very well for her. With her evenings free, she could maneuver herself more readily, could place herself into advantageous positions for the Head. And she knew tonight, at least, Tsuruga Ren would not miss dinner, despite her…absence.

They departed, leaving Tsuruga Ren to his script. Yashiro-san, though he desperately tried to hide it, looked distinctly discomforted, his face pale. She supposed that even he had sensed the malice behind Tsuruga Ren's parting words.

"I'm very sorry about your mother, Kyouko-san," he said lowly. "I hope everything is okay."

_Yes. Everything will be okay_, she thought, smiling inwardly.

Because tonight, the old Kyouko was going to die.

* * *

><p>They were cold, cold wings, the color of ice, feathers brilliant and glowing in golden light. Not her wings, of course; hers were dark - a warm, glistening black to serve as counter point to the angel's glorious pinions of white.<p>

A hand touched her face, and she felt the vague roughness of his palm - skin that was both cool and somehow hot as it rubbed against her cheek. The crook of each finger curved beneath her chin, and the smell of him, both earthly and celestial, made her tremble. The trembling was good enough, she supposed, for the camera - for this was to be her moment of weakness, the point when she succumbed to this creature of light. Outwardly, she frowned, for the script dictated she do so; but inwardly, she was on fire, burning, melting, for Shou had never been so close, had never touched her like this.

His opposite hand took her wrist, and she instinctively drew closer, trembling all the more. He shifted, pulling her towards him, towards the light that gleamed so brightly. His body language was easily understood - _come with me. _

_Of course I'll come with you, Shou!_ she squealed in her mind. _I'll go with you anywhere -_

"And cut," came Asami Haruki's voice. "That's a wrap."

The words released the pent-up swirl of emotions clenching within her stomach - Mimori felt her face blush violently, her knees rapidly going weak.

Moments later, her manager caught her as she fell, swooning, to the ground.

_Shou, Shou, Shou…_

Her manager guided her gently to one of the set's leather couches. And then, while her manager attempted to prop her up - to prevent Mimori's head from lolling off the couch's edge - Asami Haruki shoved a bottle of water into Mimori's trembling hands.

Mimori's manager whispered, "Ah, Asami-san! Thank you. I didn't think -"

"We're shooting the next scene, Mimori-san," Asami-san said briskly. "Why don't you stay here, and collect yourself?"

_The next scene?_ Mimori thought blearily. Her own scene with Shou had taken over an hour to perfect; not Shou's fault, of course, nor hers. Asami-san was just a rather…forceful, perfectionist. It was all in the lighting, Asami-san had said, and in the angles of the face and the precise positioning of the hands - frustratingly minute details that had seemed utterly silly to Mimori, but she had refused to be bested by that loser, Kanae, and had done her best to comply. She still couldn't understand why Asami-san thought Kanae to be a better actress than her - not that Asami-san had actually come out and said it, but Mimori wasn't an idiot. There could be no other reason that Asami-san had had Kanae and Shou's scene shot first - never mind that drivel Asami-san had spouted…something the complexity of the set environments, that Mimori's field of flowers would take longer to prep, as opposed to Kanae's relatively simple forest of vines.

Which made everything all the stranger. Why was Asami-san rushing to complete the next scene? Wouldn't it take some time to prep the set for the last environment?

Something was…wrong. Mimori shook her head, clearing her mind of the warm, distracting thoughts of Shou. "I'm okay, Asami-san. I would like to see the final scene, actually."

The woman stared at her hard. "Are you sure, Mimori-san? You don't have to, if you don't feel up to it."

"I feel fine," Mimori said. And she did. Better than she had felt in days.

She felt good enough to watch the third scene - if only to make certain that that trollop didn't kiss Shou anymore than necessary.

Her manager hovered over her shoulder – like an over anxious mother-hen - while she made her way back to the center of the set, where nearly a dozen people were moving about in a frenzy, removing the flowers which had formed a lush, very realistic-looking meadow. Her meadow. Or, rather, her character's meadow - for the first demon sister lived in the outer realm of hell, amid countless blooming roses.

When all traces of the roses were disposed of - the piles of glistening crimson petals swept from the set floor, and bundles of thorn-covered stems wrapped carefully in cloth and taken to the set's storage rooms - the set was, once again, transfigured. Mimori watched, somewhat amazed, as what was once a meadow transformed into a lake. The lighting changed, and within the space of a few moments the set was suddenly awash in red-tinged moonlight.

_How…how did they do that?_ she wondered.

Asami-san, sitting almost primly behind the set's control screen, barked out orders in a crisp voice, gesturing - almost violently, Mimori thought - for a cup of coffee. Now that she had taken over as the PV's director, Asami-san had become rather…short-tempered. She was still nice enough, Mimori supposed, but now, when Asami-san did speak, her words were terse, very nearly bordering on rude, and she was almost constantly drinking some caffeinated beverage or another.

Still, Mimori couldn't argue with the results. The previous director - whose name Mimori most could never remember - had been obsessed with creating the environments; he had wanted the perfect backdrop for the PV, and had, for some weeks, worked on nothing but the set. The man had been obsessed with realism - so much so that he had insisted upon the roses (thousands and thousands of them), and the vines (which had been very expensive and difficult to come by, since he had wanted a very particular species) and the mirror (which had had to be set into the floor, a process that, from what Mimori had heard, had taken hours).

Asami-san, however, had the touch of magic - the director had created the sets, but she had made them work. Kanae's scene, as much as Mimori was reluctant to admit, had been utterly gorgeous, possessed of a brilliance that had quite literally blown Mimori's mind. The woman was still a relative unknown, despite her role on Dark Moon - but after this PV was finished, Mimori was certain Kanae would be propelled very rapidly into a great deal of fame. The scene had just been _that_ good.

Mimori trembled. If Kanae's scene had been explosively beautiful, then her own scene with Shou would, in turn, prove to be better in every possible way. Because Mimori was in love Shou, where Kanae was most certainly not - and their scene, as a result, had been intimate, charged with emotion. Every touch, every meeting of their eyes, every slow, sensuous breath…all of it had been electrifying.

Yes, Mimori's scene would most certainly trump Kanae's. Very, very easily.

And now…it was time. Mimori breathed, slowing sucking in a long breath of air. Really, she didn't want to be here; her scene was finished, and she had the lingering memory of Shou's fingers against the skin of her cheek - a memory that would last her for days and weeks. She could leave, if she wanted; there was a small possibility that Asami-san would need her for something, but that was very slim indeed. She could go home, and replay the memory of Shou, her angel, touching her face, over and over again. That would be the sensible thing to do.

But true love wasn't sensible. She was going to stay here, and watch every move that filthy model made - she would make sure that creature didn't touch Shou beyond the necessary kiss. Because Shou was hers - hers, and no one else's.

Folding her hands neatly - nervously - into her lap, Mimori watched, silent, as Shou came to the fore of the set. During the filming of her own scene with him, Mimori had not possessed the power to remove her gaze from his face; she had memorized the contours of his features, intent upon etching the memory of him eternally into her mind. The way his eyes had glittered – jewel-like and brilliant and blue as the depths of an ocean - and his lips had quirked, the sheer perfection of his skin…that belonged to her, and Mimori cherished it, held it close to her heart, and remembered that it had been Shou's fingers that had touched her, and nothing could change that. Nothing at all.

Still, even with the memory, it was difficult for her to restrain the gasp of awe that rose in her throat. He was beautiful. Strange, that she had forgotten, though it had only been a handful of minutes since she had last seen him. The hair, silvery-golden like new sunlight, was woven into a loose braid, the rest unbound and curling about his shoulders; the silk cloth of his coat, of a gold darker than his hair, glistened beneath the metal of elaborately wrought armor; and the wings, ethereal and almost unnaturally white, reminded her strangely of fire – blazing and pale and searing. There was pain, a stabbing anguish that came the longer she gazed upon him. Like looking into the sun. He was all gold and silver and fiery paleness – an embodiment of light.

_My light_, said a fierce voice within her. _Mine. _

She wanted his gaze to turn to her, to reaffirm the warm emotions pooling in her stomach. But his eyes never once glanced Mimori's way; Shou gave no hint that he was even aware of her presence.

And then White Shogun's model – the _harlot _- appeared.

Mimori felt her lip curl. She stared at the woman, hatred surging hotly in her veins. Her blood, suddenly and unexpectedly, felt as though it were boiling. She took a breath (a breath slow and steady, to calm, to relax) and then another. This scene would be done quickly enough. Or so she hoped. Shou was phenomenal at everything he did, including acting; there had been some false starts, some no-goes, during Kanae's scene, but those hadn't really been his fault. He was a newcomer to acting, and the slipups were a result of his inexperience; but once he had gotten into his role, had become the angel, everything had flowed, and Mimori had witnessed the birth of a new actor, one who was, quite simply, a natural. And Mimori had known that it would be so – there was nothing Shou couldn't do.

But the model was a talentless hack. She could walk a runway, to be sure, and she could pose for pictures – but that, Mimori was certain, was the extent of her skill. There was no doubt that the witch would have trouble, and Mimori – who enjoyed a good show as much as the next person – couldn't wait to see her stumble, to see her _fail, _as she most assuredly would.

A slow smile twisted her lips. _This is going to be good._

"Scene three, take one," Asami-san intoned.

The lights dimmed, and there was darkness, but for the red, glowing light of the set.

_Red_, Mimori thought. _Like blood. Like slaughter._

How very fitting.

* * *

><p><em>Her realm was of water, of moonlight, of fire and darkness. She was the last, the guardian, and she had been so from the beginning. And she would be so until the end. Her sisters were gone, now – taken, and only she remained.<em>

_He came, as she had known he would. Her first sister – in her bright, poisonous realm of roses – had succumbed so quickly, so easily to him. She had been idealistic and naïve, and Kyouko had known that she would be snatched away, though it hurt to think that she was gone. Her flower realm had withered the moment she'd been taken; now, instead of roses of blood, there was only sunlight and starkly brilliant sky. A place where Kyouko could never tread._

_Her youngest sister had always been weak. But Kyouko had not expected Kanae, her sister with the crimson wings and eyes green and glowing, to be subject to the same weakness. She had hoped that one day her red-winged sister – so beautiful and full of power, ruler of a dark, vine-infested realm – would become as strong as she, would relieve her of her burden, take up her mantle. But it was not to be. Kyouko was the last._

_He came, the angel, confident and blazing brighter than the sun. He was so sure of himself, the filth, so eager to conquer and destroy. This was her realm, her world, cold and stark and filled with shadow,_ _and he had no right to be here._

_He had no right, and yet he drew close to her, like he was an old friend. He made to touch her, to stroke the length of her arm with his fingers, but she would not allow it – she was a guardian of Hell, and he was an interloper, unwelcome, and she would make certain that he would never infect her with his light._

_And when he left, she relished in her small moment of triumph. His power, the power of heaven, was useless here; the darkness of her realm was all encompassing, all powerful, all consuming. The angel would return, of course – this was his first defeat, but it was not in the nature of angels to give up so easily. This angel, though he had succeeded in swaying the hearts of her sisters, would not sway her. Her hatred was too strong, and this realm of darkness and water was her place, her home._

_She had devoured his brothers – the angels who had come before him, audacious and demanding that she give her loyalty to the light._

_And she would devour him._

* * *

><p>He watched her covertly. Her gaze was turned, her chin tilted to the side, and she murmured soft words to the mousy make-up artist who was in the process of re-applying the demonic markings over her cheeks. She sat utterly still, her back straight and her long, graceful hands folded over her knees.<p>

Perfect posture. He was vaguely reminded of his former fiancée; Kyouko had possessed little in the way of attractiveness, but she had known how to move, how to stand, like a woman of wealth. Like his mother. Slowly, Shou shook his head. This Kyouko was nothing like his one-time fiancée.

"She is beautiful, isn't she, Shou?" a voice whispered lowly in his ear.

"Yes," he replied, not even bothering to glance back.

The voice sighed. "You haven't been very careful, Shou. We have a job to do, and a set time limit to do it. Chasing after her is going to cause problems."

"Everything seems fine to me," he said. _Not that this is any of your business._

"Wrong." The voice turned harsh. "Everything is not fine. And maybe you would be able to see that, if you weren't so preoccupied."

Shou frowned. "You really are laying it on thick, Shouko."

"This is _your _PV, Shou. If you choose to jeopardize it, fine. That's your problem. But," Shouko said, her voice dropping to a hiss, "if you continue acting like this, you're going to hurt someone. That girl Mimori…she's infatuated with you. And you've done nothing to discourage her. Are you willing to deal with the backlash, Shou?"

He had to smother a snort. Backlash, from Pocchi? He had her in the palm of his hand; she was like a tiny, eager puppy – easy to please, and even easier to control. If she started causing problems, it would be stupidly simple to put her back in her place; a touch on her cheek, a kiss on her hair…and Pocchi would be at his mercy.

"Relax. Nothing's going to happen." _With Pocchi, I mean. _

"Can you promise that? I've seen the way Mimori looks at Kyouko. It's a disaster just waiting to happen." Shouko's hand slid over his shoulder, and her fingers clenched. "It might be better for you – better for all of us – if you turn your attentions to Mimori and leave Kyouko alone. At least until the PV is done."

"So you want me to play the liar, huh? To mess with Pocchi's head. I didn't know you were so cruel, Shouko."

"You're the one who's being cruel. And stupid, I might add."

"And you just know it all, don't you?" Shou stood, shrugging off Shouko's hand, and struggling to ignore the irritation building in his chest. "Here's the thing – you're not my mother. I'll do what I want with or without your approval. And the PV is going to be finished today, so all of that crap about me jeopardizing it – "

"Shou – "

" – that's all it is. Crap." He glanced at her, and saw her frowning at him. And he decided that he didn't care. "Don't bother me again about this, Shouko."

And he walked away from her before she could say anything else. Shouko was his manager, yes, but she wasn't his boss.

He didn't realize that he was walking directly in Kyouko's direction, until he saw her turn and regard him with a dark, blood-red gaze. Whorls of silver lines traced the sides of her face, and her long, luxurious lashes were darker than before, framing those deeply crimson contacts – crimson contacts that seemed almost natural, when taken in with the rest of her features. The white-blond hair, the pale hues of her skin, the silver wings…Kyouko made a very convincing demon.

"Fuwa-san," she said coolly, her face expressionless. "May I help you with something?"

"I want to have dinner with you," he said without preamble. Once the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back. _I sound like some middle school kid_, he thought, grimacing.

Kyouko inclined her head. "My schedule won't be very accommodating for some time, I'm afraid. And I'm certain that your own schedule isn't much better, Fuwa-san."

"I don't mind waiting," Shou said, half surprising himself. He really _didn't _mind, now that he thought of it – Kyouko would certainly be worth it. "When is your next free night?"

She stared at him for one long, disconcerting moment. "Three weeks from now," she murmured. "But I'm not quite sure I understand. Was there something you wanted to talk about? We don't have to have dinner to talk, Fuwa-san. There are a few minutes until the start of the next scene – if there's something on you're mind right now, you can tell me."

Shou drew a long, steadying breath. Why was this so nerve-wracking? He wasn't some greenhorn loser when it came to women – he'd gone on countless dates, had had numerous (and rather well-known) flings during his career. But Kyouko was different, somehow. He needed to be careful, to take this slow, if he was going to have any sort of chance with her.

"I do want to talk," he said lowly. "But what I have to talk about is going to take longer than a few minutes."

"Sounds like it's very important, then. Are you willing to wait three weeks, just to talk?"

"I am," he said, his voice falling to a whisper. "How does Friday the fourteenth sound to you?"

Kyouko went very still. "Valentine's day?" She blinked slowly, languidly – and Shou, for some reason, found it excruciatingly attractive. "I'll…think about it."

It was as close to a _yes _as he was going to get. "Good." He glanced in the direction of the set, fully aware that he and Kyouko were being watched. He saw Haruki staring unabashedly at them, her glasses gleaming. "I think Haruki might want us back a little early. Shall we?"

"Certainly, Fuwa-san," she said, her voice smooth and melodic, and (though he quickly dismissed it) strangely icy.

* * *

><p>Okay. I'm off to wrestle with the next chapter. Ciao, and thank you all again for reading.<p> 


	6. The Angel's Kiss of Death

The lights of the set went dim. Silence. And then, sound. She heard the beat of her heart, thrumming increasingly louder; she heard also her own breathing, too loud, too rapid.

_Fear. _That was what she was feeling. Perhaps it was only natural - she didn't want to be here, doing this. Every other part of the PV, with Kanae and Mimori, had gone perfectly well, and she hadn't been close to this sort of fear. Even the last scene with Shou had been…tolerable. Readily endured. But this was different.

The Head's face kept flashing within her mind, his eyes dark with disappointment. She couldn't fail him. Failure wasn't an option, had never been an option.

So Kyouko forced down the fear, ignored the trembling of her fingers, and stepped forward. Slipping into her role, with so much fear freezing her heart, was excruciatingly difficult. But it had to be done.

She saw the tiny, almost imperceptible motion of Asami-san's hand, the slight wave of the woman's fingers, signaling that it was time. And then there was the soft whisper of simulated wind, and, on the edge of the set, the delicate froth of pale mist began creeping over the ground.

The lessons she'd taken from LME's acting school reverberated in her mind. _There is no past or future in acting. Only be. Be the character, live in the moment, let your eyes see only in the now…_

She became the demon, and saw her world - darkness and shadow and the red glow of hell, beneath the eye of a silver moon. Kyouko receded; the demon woman emerged, full of contempt and hatred and despair. For on the edge of her realm treaded a bright figure with wings of brilliant white. The angel. He had come again, the interloper, intruding upon her home.

So she moved to meet him, stepping slowly out of the cool embrace of the shadows.

He looked haggard, her angel. Worn, exhausted beyond measure, with the light of his skin - the light all angels possessed, the glow of heaven - steadily darkening. But his eyes were the same, unchanged from before. They glittered, intense even in the darkness of her realm; beautiful eyes, she would have said, had she not hated him with every fiber of her being.

Hell was no place for an angel. He was dying, but was too much a fool to fear his own imminent death. And that death would come, very soon, if he didn't return to heaven.

She didn't care, one way or another. If he went back, she would be rid of him; if he died, she would still be rid of him. Of course, it would be more interesting if he died here, in her realm. Yes. Very interesting.

They began the dance. The angel circled her, every gesture slow and graceful and - to her eyes - excruciatingly painful. She felt his agony, relished it, desired to taste more. So she allowed his touch, the soft, gentle caress of his fingers against her arm, down the skin of her neck, over her cheek. The revulsion she felt for him grew tenfold, but she continued the dance, returning each of his caresses for one of her own. She let her hatred for him seep into every touch, but the angel seemed unaffected, oblivious.

If he wouldn't accept defeat, then she would have to give it to him, shove it into his face, until he could see his failure, gaze upon it, and despair. She couldn't let him die, then. Instead, she would make him her own, compromise his very nature, strip him of his celestial power. Yes, that was a fine plan - the angel would live, but in darkness and shadow, driven mad by the oppressive power of Hell.

She fingered a tendril of his hair - silvery gold, and still beautiful, still brighter than moonlight - and, though she was repulsed by his very presence, she drew close to him, breathing in his scent. He smelled of purity, as though he had never been touched by evil.

Kyouko smiled. That would change, so very soon…

Her angel drew her in, embracing her, clinging to her like a man dying. His plea was silent, wordless, but she understood perfectly. _Come with me._

She laughed lowly in her throat, her laughter full of dark amusement. He really was a fool. But then, all angels were fools - so utterly stupid in their self-righteousness. Morals had no meaning here; love was just an ideal, and completely non-existent in her realm.

The angel had wasted his time. He had taken Mimori and Kanae both, but there had never been any chance that he would ever take her. Perhaps her sisters had been swayed by his display of compassion and honor and light, but Kyouko was not so weak. Hatred she had aplenty, and hatred she held close to her heart. There was no room for anything else.

Still…the his determination intrigued her. None of the other angels who had entered her realm had lasted this long; they had all admitted defeat, or, in the case of a few, simply died within minutes of breathing the air of Hell.

But this angel…he was strong, and as much as she despised him, she couldn't help but see his worth as an adversary. How delicious it would be to have him by her side, to see his pain every single day, to watch as shadow and darkness devoured him…

Slowly, she pulled out of his arms, and idly slid her fingers beneath his chin. Those hateful, lovely eyes met her own, and she saw the naked longing within them, that desire that she would return to heaven with him, forsake the darkness just to be with him.

She shook her head, her smile deepening. _No. I won't come with you._

The angel's face froze, and Kyouko had to control the laughter that threatened to bubble up from her again. He really was a fool! He had really believed that she would go with him, surrender to him, like a meek little lamb.

With her opposite hand, she cupped the back of his neck, pulling him closer. So close, her forehead brushed his. She could feel, beneath her fingers, a shiver pass down the angel's spine.

She spoke to him silently. _Stay. Stay here with me. _

Everything was controlled - she was controlled, calm, relaxed.

In the next second, that control slipped, degenerating into an explosion of chaos.

The angel leaned in and kissed her, his arms drawing her flush against him. For a moment, her mind went utterly blank, and she couldn't do anything - and the angel, _Shou, _took advantage, deepening the kiss until she could hardly breathe. It was so violent, so fiercely powerful, that she stood paralyzed, unable to comprehend what was happening.

_He shouldn't be doing this, it's not in the script - _

"Shou!"

Shouko's scream was high, terrified, hysterical. And it was enough for Kyouko to be pulled out of her role as the demon woman, forcing her back to reality - a horrifying reality. Shou hadn't stopped, wasn't going to stop. In a fit of fear, Kyouko tried pushing him away, but he held her tight, his hands clenched over her arms in a vice-grip.

Her mind raced, and she shook, trembling uncontrollably. He wasn't letting go. He wasn't letting go -

The old memory, the she kept so close to her heart, rose up violently.

"…_then leave." He leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe, smiling a soft, small smile. A smile full of cruelty. "Our engagement was a farce, anyway. Everyone knew. Everyone except you." His laughter was low, sinister to her ears. "I guess that's no surprise, though. I'm the best thing that has ever happened to you - the best thing that will happen to you, I'll bet, as plain and boring as you are. Well, it's been fun. Don't let the door hit you on the way out, Kyouko."_

Shou abruptly relinquished her, his lips leaving hers, and she staggered back, shoving him away. His eyes were dark and wild, his pupils dilated.

He started to say something. "Kyouko. I - "

Shouko yanked him from behind, pulling at his arm. "What were you thinking?" she hissed.

"I didn't mean…" Shoutarou's voice was slow and uncertain, almost pitiful, but Kyouko found that she just didn't care. About any of it.

She left the set, ignoring the looks cast in her direction. It was fortunate for her that the dressing rooms were empty, and - very conveniently - dimly lit.

Kyouko sat in front of a mirror, her gaze flickering to her reflection. The new Kyouko stared back at her, not the old one. New Kyouko was stronger than the old - far stronger, and entirely capable of shrugging most anything off.

But new Kyouko was crumbling. Nausea rose in the pit of her stomach, and the shaking just wouldn't stop.

She hugged herself, breathing evenly, willing the mounting hysteria within her back down. She had to regain control. There was no time for this, no time at all…

_Plain and boring, _she thought, trembling all the more. _I was plain and boring, so he got rid of me._

She couldn't rationalize it. Every part of her screamed at the absurdity of it all. A year ago, Shoutarou had treated her like a worthless piece of trash. And now, today, he had kissed her, deviating entirely from the script; kissed her, as though he were in love with her.

This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't supposed to happen at all -

Kyouko drew a shuddering breath. She couldn't be weak, couldn't let this hurt her. Shoutarou had already destroyed her world once; she wouldn't let it happen again.

The hatred welled up within her, fiery hot and comforting. Kyouko closed her eyes briefly, struggling to get a hold of herself, to take hold of her hate, and then opened them.

The eyes of the demon gleamed back at her from the mirror. She forced herself to smile - and the demon smiled back, a smile full of insidious malice.

Kyouko pressed a hand against the mirror's smooth surface. "Never again," she whispered softly. "Never again."

* * *

><p>Haruki called for a break. Without waiting a beat, Shouko dragged Shou away from the set, to a more private place.<p>

"The men's bathroom?" Shou muttered, sounding for all the world like he was irritated - as though he had a right. "This isn't decent, Shouko -

"

Her anger got the better of her. "_You_ aren't decent, Shou! What were you doing? Are you trying to ruin this PV?"

"Stop overreacting," Shou said, looking at her sourly. "The PV isn't ruined."

Shouko suddenly had the urge to hit him. With a great amount of effort she refrained, well aware that physical violence really wouldn't help - other than to make her feel better, in the very least.

Instead, she whipped out the PV's script and shoved it into his hands. "Read the last line for me, Shou."

The boy had the audacity to sigh. "Do we really have to go over this again?"

"_Read._"

"Fine," he said in a chipped voice. "The devil…kissed the angel in the shadows of hell."

Shouko crossed her arms. "And what does that mean, Shou?"

Shou looked away from her, mumbling something beneath his breath. She waited a moment, but the mumbling grew no louder, and she became impatient. "What was that?"

"I was wrong, okay?" he snapped, turning back to face her. "I made a mistake. I know what the script says, I just…"

She could see it in his eyes now. "You just wanted to kiss her," she supplied, her voice soft. "You selfish boy."

His denial was swift. "I'm not - "

"You are," Shouko said, cutting him off. "You accosted her because you wanted to, without any thought of the repercussions. That, in my book, is selfish." Slowly, she released a tired breath. "The PV is canceled."

Shou jerked as though he'd been slapped. "What?"

"I can't trust you with Kyouko-san. I'm responsible for you, and your actions - but I'm also responsible for the wellbeing of everyone participating in your PV. I have to be sensible, Shou. If I were to even suspect that you would try to kiss Kyouko again, and yet willingly let the PV continue while aware that you would, should the opportunity present itself…that would be negligence on my part. I have to think of Kyouko-san's safety - and I have to think of your reputation. As it is, if Kyouko reports this back to her agency, your reputation is going to take a massive hit."

Shou was silent for a time, pensive. For a second, Shouko felt a cool surge of relief that he was actually digesting her words, and taking this seriously. Of course, that relief was short-lived, shattering as soon as Shou opened his mouth.

"No." His eyes were hard.

"What do you mean, _no_? This isn't up for discussion, Shou. It's over. Done."

"You've been a good manager to me, Shouko," he said slowly, his face expressionless. "So I'm only going to say this once. Butt out." With a quick motion, he shoved the PV's script back into Shouko's fingers. "I'm going to talk to Kyouko."

She stood there as he left, her mouth hanging half-open. It took her several moments to process the rudeness, and another several to process the words _I'm going to talk to Kyouko_.

Shouko blinked, and then cursed. _Oh, hell. _

* * *

><p>Kanae wasn't quite sure what possessed her to do this. On the one hand, watching that airhead Mimori cry her eyes out was an exercise in frustration. Mimori's manager, and several members of the film crew, were probably still struggling to calm the little fool down; Kanae refused to stand witness to such a spectacle, and so, while the everyone else was preoccupied with Mimori, Kanae took the time to visit one of the studio's vending machines.<p>

_On the other hand, _she thought, gazing at the overabundance of selections from each expensive machine, _watching Mimori wail like a toddler is still probably a better idea than this._

She needed coffee. Something strong, and preferably black. Unfortunately for her, there was only one vending machine that offered even a semblance of what she wanted - she would have to make do with a sugary, creamy imitation of real coffee. Which sucked, royally.

_I wonder if she even likes cappuccino? _Kanae mused. In the end, it didn't really matter, though. Kanae needed the caffeine, and, since she couldn't think of anything else that the model might like, she purchased two cappuccinos instead of one.

The walk to the dressing rooms was a slow one, with her mind lingering upon the day's…interesting, turn of events. Really, Kanae should have left some time ago; her scene had been long done, and there wasn't any valid reason for her to be here. But, though she knew it was only logical that she leave, for some reason, Kanae had wanted to stay. Deep down, she knew the reason, even if she didn't want to admit it to herself.

The model. To see the woman act…Kanae had wanted to measure herself against her. She'd wanted to see if Kyouko would falter, if she would fail - if she would reveal herself as the talent less hack Kanae had thought her to be.

The final scene of the PV had shown Kanae differently. There had been no stumbling, no mistakes, no awkward moments. The model had _acted, _in every sense of the word. Kanae had found herself - far more often than she would have liked - in sheer awe. Fuwa Shou, who had no prior acting experience as far as Kanae knew, had acted his role like a professional…because of Kyouko. Because he'd been enveloped by Kyouko's sheer presence, forced, almost, to become his role, too become the angel. Kanae had read about actors like that - actors of such talent and power that they could make people act just as well as themselves. But she had never seen it.

Until today.

And maybe that was the reason. Kanae wasn't the sort of person who gave others comfort; she just wasn't the type, and had never been. But she wanted to talk to Kyouko, and if she had to do so under the façade of comfort, she would do it. Because Kanae wanted to know…wanted to understand, how some upstart model, who had only been a year into the entertainment industry (or so Kanae's research said), could act like _that_.

Pushing open the door of the dressing rooms, Kanae steeled herself. There, in the very back, sat Kyouko, staring quietly at a vanity mirror.

Kanae stalked up to her, and - with more boldness than she felt - shoved one of the cups of cappuccino beneath the woman's nose.

Kyouko, after a second, blinked. Then she looked away from the mirror, turning to Kanae with a smile. "Ah, Kotonami-san," she said, red eyes suddenly aglitter. Kanae had to forcefully remain herself that those were contacts, even if they looked remarkably - demonically - real. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"Nothing," Kanae said, lying smoothly. "I hope you like cappuccino."

"Thank you, Kotonami-san." The model took the cup with one graceful, long fingered hand. "Though, if you would pardon my rudeness, I think you're here for more than 'nothing.' Isn't that so?"

_She's caught me in one lie_, Kanae thought, feeling suddenly uneasy. _It wasn't a very good one, but still. I'd better be careful._

"Y-yes. I have a question for you, actually." Kanae drew a breath, struggling to calm her nerves. There was no sense beating around the bush; she'd always favored the straight-forward approach, anyway. "Where did you learn acting?"

Kyouko's left eye twitched slightly. Kanae almost didn't catch it - but she was nothing if not observant. "I attended an acting school for a time. A very good school, though I wasn't fortunate enough to see it through to the end."

"Is that so?" Kanae asked, her voice low. _So now you're lying to me. Interesting. What are you trying to hide? _"I wasn't aware that White Shogun Enterprises had an acting school."

Kyouko inclined her head a bit, her red eyes darkening. "My, my. I never would have thought you would be so interested in me, Kotonami-san. I'm very…flattered, by your interest. But I wonder. Why are you so curious now? Surely I've done nothing for you to probe so far into my business."

Kanae shuddered. This had suddenly become dangerous. She opened her mouth, only to close it again. The already dim lights of the dressing rooms had grown dimmer.

"Perhaps," Kyouko said, in a slow, deadly whisper, "you've finally decided to become friends with me. If that's the case, then I have a question for you, one friend to another." The model's free hand reached out, fast as a striking snake, and took hold of Kanae's wrist, drawing her closer. "If someone betrayed you, someone whom you had loved with every part of your being, would you get revenge?"

"I…yes, I-I think I would," Kanae said, realizing - far too late - that coming here had been a stupid mistake.

"And how would you get it? How would you take your revenge?" Those red eyes gleamed with unnatural, searing light. Kanae knew that it wasn't possible, couldn't be possible, but…those eyes were glowing, just like a demon's, with dark, evil malice.

She was afraid. Kanae had never been afraid of anything, but she was afraid - deathly so - of this woman. She was so afraid that she said the first thing that came to her mind. "The thing they did to me, I would do to them. Only worse."

Kyouko's fingers abruptly released Kanae's wrist. "Only worse?" Kyouko repeated quietly, as though tasting the words. "Yes. I like the way you think, Kotonami-san. I'll do the same thing he did to me. Only worse. Much, much worse."

A small part of Kanae - the stupid part of her that wasn't scared stiff - wanted to know who Kyouko was talking about. Thankfully, the rest of her was quite logical, thoroughly terrified, and not nearly foolish enough to stick around to ask.

"I should go," Kanae said, backing away slowly. "Thank you for your time."

"Of course, Kotonami-san," Kyouko said absently, with a distant look in her eyes. "I appreciate the cappuccino. And your advice."

Advice? When did she give Kyouko advice?

Kanae's mind screamed at her. _That really, really doesn't matter! Let's go, let's go!_

She made it to the door of the dressing rooms. So close. But not close enough, because the door whipped open just before she could reach it.

There, in Kanae's way, stood Fuwa Shou. Kanae stared at him for a split second, wondering what he was doing here, in the women's dressing rooms. Then another shiver of fear shuddered down her spine, and she knew intuitively that she really did not want to be here, with Kyouko and Fuwa Shou in the same room together.

Kanae bolted. And she felt absolutely no shame in doing so.

* * *

><p>Typos. There are probably many in this chapter...but, unfortunately, I'm just happy that I got another chapter out. Sorry for the delay. I've been struggling with my writing, so hopefully I can get back on the ball.<p>

Thanks for your patience. Over and out.


	7. The Truth Lacking in Lies

She paced along the halls of the set, breathing hard, thinking even harder. In the west wing of this hall she would find the woman's dressing rooms. If, however, she decided to give into her fear, there was always the lounge in the east wing, where there would be coffee and soft leather chairs and sweet empty calories in the form of cake. Shouko liked cake a lot, far more than she should, and it took only a moment for her to visualize herself in the lounge, eating herself into a sugar-induced stupor.

But that was the coward's way out. Shou was in the west wing right now, in the women's dressing rooms, doing only God knew what. It was her job to find out, to make certain that he didn't do anything that could possibly ruin his reputation.

Shouko stopped in the middle of the hall, breath catching in her throat._ He's probably done something already that I can't fix. Even if I go, I'll be wasting my time.  
><em>  
>Shouko hated wasting time. She was Shou's manager, not his baby-sitter. If he wanted to do something stupid, something that would destroy his career, it wasn't Shouko's problem.<p>

The trouble was, it wouldn't stop at Shou's career. Akatoki could, and would, be held liable if anything happened to Kyouko - and White Shogun enterprises was not an agency known for its mercy.

The media will get a hold of it first, Shouko thought, absently biting at a fingernail. They'll tear into it like a pack of wolves. And once everything dissolves into chaos, White Shogun enterprises will move in for the kill.

Akatoki could ill afford the trouble of a lawsuit right now, and especially not one from so powerful an agency. White Shogun enterprises devoured agencies whole; Shouko had heard word that several well-known entertainment agencies had fallen to it within the past five years. As much as she wanted to, she knew better than to seek out that lounge in the east wing. Akatoki, though a firmly established power in the world of show business, was not invincible.

_All it would take is one selfish boy to cripple an entire agency. _

It was the thought of Shou, in his reckless selfishness, destroying Akatoki that moved her. Shouko found herself walking the hall of the west wing, the sound of her heels echoing within the hall's emptiness, her heart beating with nervous fervor. She had to take things in hand now, do what had to be done, or the consequences would be severe. White Shogun Enterprises was not enemy that Akatoki needed; and if Shouko had to drag Shou bodily from the women's dressing rooms to avoid that agency's wrath, she would do it willingly.

Shouko knew well where her loyalties lay; Shou was her charge, her responsibility, and she had cared for him deeply during the expanse of his so far brief (if successful) career. She had done what she could to keep him from harm - including the harm he could have inflicted upon himself.

But Akatoki signed her check. She had great affection for Shou - regarding him, at times, to be something close to a younger sibling. Akatoki, however, took precedence, and would always take precedence, in the end. Shouko would be nothing without Akatoki. _Shou _would be nothing, though the boy was probably arrogant enough to think otherwise.

Slowly, Shouko blinked. The women's dressing rooms stood before her, door slightly ajar. She hadn't even realized that she had been walking; and now, seeing the dressing rooms so close, Shouko knew that she had no choice, really. Here was her opportunity to salvage the situation. She just had to be bold enough, strong enough, to do what was necessary.

Shouko drew a long breath. _Time to sink or swim._ With a hand that shook far more than she wanted, she pushed the door fully ajar.

Really, she hadn't known what to expect. Nothing good, for certain. It had been her hope that, at the very least, whatever she saw wouldn't be so terrible that it couldn't be fixed.

So it was an incredible shock to find the dressing rooms empty. She stood motionless for a long moment, hardly comprehending, her breathing shallow.

_What...?_

Shouko looked around to make sure - but every corner of the dressing rooms was empty, devoid of even a sign that anyone had been here in the past hour.

Gone - both Shou and Kyouko, and to who knew where?

She would have to find them, and quickly. Reaching into her pocket, Shouko pulled out her cell. She would tell Asami to postpone production until she could locate Shou and Kyouko...which could take hours, as Shouko had absolutely no idea where to even start looking.

And that was the question. Could she find them in time, before some sort of scandal erupted? People on set would talk - and, as most of the staff were from various agencies, including LME, they would probably talk very loudly. Once that happened, the best thing Shouko could do was damage control. And Shouko didn't want to do damage control.

Cursing Shou wasn't productive. She knew it, but the words slipped out of her mouth, uncontrolled, and fouler than anything she'd ever uttered in her life. It was, she thought as she left the dressing rooms, a good thing that no one was around.

It was an even better thing that Shou wasn't around, actually - because she might well have killed him for putting her in this position.

If she somehow managed to avert a scandal, she was going to ask for a raise. A big one. And a vacation - some place nice, where there was lots of sun and sandy beaches, and plenty of cake. Chocolate cake.

* * *

><p>He wasn't much of a people-watcher. Humans didn't interest him. The living ones, at least. Spirits were were a different matter - most were imbued with a darkness he found attractive, and it was a rare good day for him when he noticed one steeped in anger and hatred and shadow.<p>

Today was that rare good day. A mere hour after rehearsal, he'd extricated himself from his useful - if overly clingy - band mates, to take a cup of coffee at the cafe _Rose D'or. _It was a quaint place, decorated in a lavish, falsely French style. The floors were of a smooth dark wood, the tables inlaid with marble, and the windows framed by golden silk curtains. Far too bright for his tastes, but he bore it as gracefully as he could manage, for this place attracted celebrities in droves. And celebrities brought with them all manner of spirits - which meant, of course, numerous opportunities for him.

Taking an idle sip of his coffee (well-brewed, but bitter) Reino shifted his gaze back to the pair in the cafe's corner. The man he recognized as Fuwa Shou, who currently held the top position as Japan's number one visual kei artist. His altered appearance wasn't unexpected; Reino had gotten wind that Akatoki was planning the production of a PV for Fuwa's newest album, _Prisoner. _Indeed, Fuwa Shou wasn't the only visual kei that frequented the _Rose D'or_, so his costume - with the elaborate armor, the long braid of pale hair, and the plumes of feathers on the shoulders - was hardly out of place.

The woman however...she was different. Reino knew of her identity, but that knowledge was twofold: from Fuwa's PV casting, she was Kyouko, a model of White Shogun Enterprises. Mostly well-known in the entertainment industry, if a relative new-comer. Her face, though altered by the careful application of overly striking makeup, was well sculpted, in the manner of most models. Behind the contacts, her eyes were of a deep, brilliant gold.

Reino knew who she really was. Mogami Kyouko, of Kyoto. A singularly average girl, who had steeped her soul in hatred.

And that hatred was absolutely lovely. It burned - a dark, molten shadow, so close to her skin. It was nearly alive, that darkness, like a hungry flame that curled lovingly around her, growing with every pulse of her hate-filled heart. He had never seen its like. The paltry spirits of the celebrities he normally encountered couldn't compare.

An hour passed, and Reino remained still, his eyes riveted.

With the passage of time, his band mates, ill content to leave him to his own devices, called him twice on his cell. Reino ignored both calls.

Sitting completely motionless, he watched, and waited.

_You hate him, don't you? Fuwa is the source of everything._

Reino couldn't make out what was passing between the two of them - he was too far away to catch the scratches of their conversation, and _Rose D'or_, despite its quaint, quiet atmosphere, produced enough noise that even if he were close, he still would be unable to hear. But he possessed far more perception, both within the normal and spiritual realms, than did almost everyone else, and that was enough.

Fuwa spoke with the subtle, laid-back animation of a man who - if not quite consumed by love - held a substantial amount of interest. Attraction, lust...and something that was borderline adoration.

The man had no notion, it seemed, no inkling, of the depth of Kyouko's hatred for him. She hid it well, and, had Reino not had eyes that could see beyond the physical, perhaps he would have been fooled as well.

Perhaps. He was no fool, like Fuwa. He could see, in the way her eyes glittered, that she despised Fuwa's touch, that his very proximity thoroughly disgusted her. Be she allowed the caress of Fuwa's fingers - a soft, gentle caress, an idle stroking of his hand against her wrist.

She smiled, and grew inexplicably lovelier. Even from afar, Reino could see Fuwa stiffen, taken in by that loveliness, enthralled completely.

She had him. Fuwa was trapped now, entangled - and the man, fool that he was, had no idea. Fuwa belonged to her.

For an instant, that thought made him angry. Reino rarely succumbed to anger; it was an emotion he had little use of, and there were few things he cared enough about to bring him to the point of rage. He realized then that he wanted it - her hatred, all of it, for himself. Fuwa was unworthy of something so glorious, so magnificent.

But Fuwa had his own destiny - and that destiny was for him to fall to Reino and his band mates, for everything Fuwa had and loved and cherished to be taken. Reino had little problem with stealing not only Fuwa's fame, his life, but also her.

Kyouko, he decided, would be his. Gingerly, he set down his coffee (already gone cold) and rose, sliding a generous tip to the center of his table, before taking his leave.

Reino made certain that he passed close to her on the way out; at his approach, her eyes momentarily left Fuwa's, and met his.

He smiled slightly. A frown briefly marred her face, her eyes darkening with a flash of worry. Then her gaze flicked away, her regard returning back to Fuwa.

_Play with him nicely, Kyouko. One day all of that beautiful hatred will be mine._

* * *

><p>The instant they walked into back into the studio, there was an explosion of chaos. She had expected it, and yet she was still caught off guard by the sheer magnitude - there were screams, and tears, and people quite literally tearing out their hair.<p>

Well, Asami was tearing out her hair, which was more than a little disturbing. Kyouko took a long breath, keeping her face carefully controlled, and sliding her fingers into Shou's hand. That was the most difficult thing. Letting Shou touch her was a necessary evil, and touching him of her own volition even more so; she had seen how the middle school girls who had fawned over Shou conducted themselves, how they used every excuse to touch him, and touch him intimately. She had seen the same from the celebrity women Shou had had flings with. Kyouko supposed that was what women did, when they were enamored with a man. Or, at least, when they were enamored with Shou.

Still. She would have to proceed with caution. Shou went through women exceedingly quickly. If she wanted her plan to work, she would have to take it slow, draw it out for as long as possible. There was a high chance that he would tire of her, that he would move on to someone else_; _and something deep inside of her almost wanted that to happen. She wanted her revenge as she had wanted nothing else in her life - not the Fuwas' acceptance when she'd been a child, her mother's love, or Shoutarou's affection when she'd so stupidly thought that he was really her fiancee. None of that could compare. Kyouko wanted to see Shou on his knees, totally and utterly defeated; she wanted to see his face when he realized that it was _her_, that she was the one who had destroyed him...Kyouko, whom he had so ruthlessly cast away.

At the same time, that small, tiny part of her wanted to run. The words Shou had whispered to her, mere moments before, had been terrifying. _I want to go out with you. Will you give me the chance? _He had been so humble, his voice so low and gentle. She wondered if Shou always acted that way with the women he liked - he had certainly had never spoken to her that way, when she had been his servant.

Kyouko took another breath. Her stomach roiled, cramping painfully. Standing with him like this, she couldn't help but remember. Couldn't help the bile that rose in her throat, the nausea, the sheer revulsion, at remembering.

But she'd made the choice. Kyouko had to play the part now. There was no going back.

Asami, once she was done with her hair, strode up to them, questions flying from her lips. Kyouko answered them calmly, ignoring the looks that were being cast her way - looks of confusion, looks of knowing. Those looks made her feel even sicker.

"We're sorry to have caused such worry," she said softly. "It was entirely unprofessional, and I promise it won't happen again, Asami-san. Is it still possible to finish filming with the time we have left?"

"Well..." Asami quickly checked her watch. "I think so. I'll have to call Shouko, tell her everything's all right. She's probably half-way across town by now, looking for you both." Asami shot a glance at Kyouko's hand, intertwined with Shou's. The woman's face flushed bright crimson. "As long as you're feeling okay, Kyouko-san, we can go ahead with filming."

"I'm perfectly fine." The lie came out easily enough.

"Okay. Let's get you two prepped and back on set."

* * *

><p>He had no doubt the rumor mills would spread it quickly enough. He had taken her to the <em>Rose D'or <em>cafe for that very reason: so that there would be plenty of eyes to see, plenty of chances for the paparazzi to pick up on it. Shouko was pissed, of course, and she'd made it no secret; Shou was certain that he'd never seen her so mad, and even more certain that, if it wasn't for the fact that there was a PV to finish, she would have slugged him right in the face.

Shou would deal with the consequences later. He was going to be reprimanded, of course; the president of Akatoki was lenient enough with the minor flings. Young starlets, up and coming singers - the nobodies of the entertainment industry - but this was different. Kyouko was different.

Shou had always been careful of his image; his fans were mostly women, and they remained so because he was single. Women liked to fantasize, to dream; much of his success was hinged upon the fact that women wanted him. He'd never once had a serious relationship, and he knew that the moment he and Kyouko went public, his music sales would probably take a blow...

...or they might not. Kyouko was amazingly successful and well-known, one of the more prominent faces of the modeling industry - and she was ravishingly beautiful. His fans, instead of despising her, would want to be her. And his image, rather than suffering, would flourish with Kyouko at his side.

It was still risky. Shouko had whispered in his ear the danger he was running. _This might mean your career, Shou. Think about it. _

He had thought about it. Kyouko was the one he wanted, and the instant she had agreed to go out with him, nothing else had mattered. Chords of songs whispered to him every time he laid eyes upon her, songs more powerful than any other he'd ever written before. He needed her to be with him, to hear the music inspired by her loveliness, to sing those songs within her ear.

There was the murmur of a song within his mind even now, as his eyes met her eyes, her fingers reaching to touch his face.

_Stick to the script this time, Shou, _Asami had said to him. _We can't afford any more mistakes._

The caress of Kyouko's fingertips sent an electrified thrill down his spine. When her hand slid from his cheek, gliding to the back of his neck, it was all he could do to keep control, to keep himself in check. He couldn't mess up again, like he had before; Kyouko had agreed to go out with him despite his unwarranted kiss, but that didn't mean she fully trusted him. If he scared her off now...

_No. _He wouldn't even fathom it.

Kyouko lowered him close, and brushed her lips against his. Shou shuddered, his control slipping. Hers was a chaste, soft kiss, excruciatingly innocent. Almost as though she had never kissed anyone before, as though this were her first time...

He struggled to respond in kind, ignoring the sheer desire that flooded his veins. Slowly, he threaded his fingers into her hair, kissing her with every ounce of gentleness he could muster.

_You're more the angel than I ever could be, Kyouko. _

* * *

><p>The shoot had gone well. It was the end of evening, and the set staff were putting the last finishing touches on the digital pictures; the director, smug and grinning quietly to himself, was lost in his own little world, sipping a glass of Merlot in silent pleasure. Ren left them to it. He knew from past experience that the work was done, and he wasn't needed for anything else - once the director delved into his private store of wine, Ren's presence was no longer required, and he was free to head home.<p>

But not tonight. Instead of driving back to his apartment, and finding his bed as he so desperately wanted, he drove south and west, into downtown. The Ritz was located on the farthest edge of downtown, just before city turned to suburb.

Streams of light rippled along his windshield as he fought traffic, his mind drifting to the worry he'd tried to suppress. It had been a long time since he'd worried this much; for the entire time he'd worked for LME, living under the alias of Tsuruga Ren, his life had been straight-forward. No hitches, no real problems...just acting.

It would be different now. Ren had no doubt that the President had allowed this to happen for a reason - the man trusted him, and probably thought that Ren was his best option for combating White Shogun enterprises.

Ren wasn't so sure. The enmity between the President and his brother was a well-kept secret within the industry, and even Ren himself didn't know much of their history. But he knew that Tora was power hungry, devouring agency after agency, and Ren had the terrifying suspicion that the man wouldn't be content to simply consume LME. If Tora found the opening, the weakness, that would allow him to make LME his own, there would be humiliation, first for the President, then for everyone else. Actors, singers, talentos, staff...all of them would suffer.

It was a fear for which he had no basis, no evidence, besides Tora himself. Tora certainly wasn't a man to cross, and he bore a hatred for the President; a deep, seething hatred. Ren had sensed that hatred, and, though the President had laughed it off when Ren had asked, the President was well aware of his brother's malice.

Ren didn't know what the President was planning, but he hoped it was good enough to keep LME from being destroyed. That the President had made him a part of the plan didn't reassure Ren - he didn't think there was much he could do, if a war between two agencies (two very large, and exceedingly powerful agencies) broke out.

He pulled his car into the long shadow of the Ritz, handing his keys absently to a cool-eyed valet. The valet give him a slight bow, murmuring a low, 'you're car will be well-taken care of, Tsuruga-san,' before he slid into Ren's car, and drove off toward the Ritz's small, private parking garage.

The Ritz itself was rather nondescript; it was a relatively large building, with tall, arching windows set in pale wood, and polished, gleaming black floors. There was a picturesque pond within, filled with unusually large koi fish - the children of the celebrities who frequented here were often found around the pond, watching the koi in quiet awe.

Tonight there were no children, but the Ritz was crowded, more so than usual. Gone was the restaurant's normal, quiet ambiance, replaced instead by a soft cacophony of voices.

A part of Ren found it odd. The Ritz was a favorite haunt of celebrities, but he had never seen it so full of people. 'Something's wrong,' he thought, but he couldn't figure out quite what.

At his approach, the restaurant hostess - a petite woman with brown hair cut stylishly short - briefly consulted the reservations. "Ah, yes. We've placed you at a table upstairs, Tsuruga-san. Is that suitable?"

"It's fine," he said, smiling.

"Excellent," the hostess said, ducking her head slightly - but not before Ren noticed the blush that etched itself over her cheeks. "This way, Tsuruga-san."

Ren followed her, inwardly steeling himself. He had no way of truly knowing what to expect; he had done some research beforehand, preparing himself as much as he was able, but that research had yielded little. That this woman - her name was Kyouko, he reminded himself - was one of the models favored directly by Tora himself, didn't help him much. It had been difficult finding information about her, but Ren supposed that was only to be expected; most agencies went to a lot of trouble to keep their people's private lives protected. LME did the same - there was only a short bio available detailing his hobbies and favorite color ( gardening and reading, and dark blue, respectively) on LME's general website, and little else.

Still, Ren should have been able to find something more about her. She was a newcomer to the modeling world, but her name was already being breathed on the lips of prominent fashion moguls, and she was well known among the industry's top directors. There should have been something; an interview, an article, a tidbit of media gossip, _something_ - anything.

No luck. Kyouko's image was clean. Pristine. It almost reminded him of his own image, which was just as clean - the President had seen to it, had devised a cover story to hide Ren's true background. If anyone thought to delve deeper into Ren's history, they would find nothing worth noting...nothing that hinted at his past, which was filled with darkness and blood.

His mind drifted to the possibility that this Kyouko was like him - that her very persona was a lie, a guise to protect a past better left unspoken.

"...must apologize again, Tsuruga-san, for the inconvenience," the hostess said. "There was a Louis Vuitton show a few blocks down, and many of the participating models came here..."

A fashion show. There was no question of which agency had hosted it. It seemed that Ren was surrounded, on all sides, by models of White Shogun enterprises.

Somehow, he wasn't surprised. This dinner with Kyouko would be carefully watched. Ren should have expected nothing less.

"It isn't a problem," he said to the hostess. She nodded shyly, completely unaware of his lie.

The table reserved for him was the best offered in the Ritz - situated by the tallest of the restaurant's windows, it was slightly hidden by an intimate, but elegant alcove, and illuminated by small lamps that cast a gentle amber glow. It was a good place to eat a private dinner, to hold a confidential conversation -

But not tonight. Their conversation would be far from confidential. Ren's eyes slid to the surrounding tables, which stood filled with models chattering quietly at each other.

Careful. He would have to be very careful.

The table was already occupied; Kyouko had arrived before him. Violet eyes silently appraised him, a cool smile gracing a finely featured face. "Hello, Tsuruga-san. I hope the night finds you well."

"It does," he said, breathing slowly, forcing himself to relax. "Have I kept you waiting long?"

"I've only just arrived myself. You have good timing, actually." A long fingered hand gracefully curved over the stem of a wine glass. "I took the liberty of ordering a bit of champagne both of us. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," he said, thinking that he could use a bit of a drink right about now. But only a little; enough to satisfy her, enough to calm his nerves...a few sips, and nothing more. He had to keep complete focus.

The champagne was good, smooth and vaguely sweet. Kyouko had excellent taste, for all that she seemed too young to be drinking.

_No. Not quite legal_, he thought, analyzing her face, and finding it far more youthful than he remembered. In the previous meeting he'd had with Tora, Ren had not paid much attention to Kyouko, who had been a lesser threat to Tora's looming one, and therefore easily dismissed. But looking closer, he could see that she was younger than her official publicized age of twenty-two; much younger. She looked as though she would not be out of place in high school.

Ren filed his suspicion away. He had no proof, other than his own instincts - still, if she was indeed no older than a high school age, that information might come in useful later.

"So, Tsuruga-san," she murmured softly, after taking the barest sip of her own champagne, "tell me about yourself. I would like to know more of you, since we'll be working together very soon."

"And what would you like to know?"

Kyouko smiled, tilting her head slightly. "Well. I've been curious as to how you came to be in this line of work. It's not every day that a man becomes one of the best actors in Japan."

It was the standard question he was asked often on interviews; _how did this journey start for you, Tsuruga-san? _Just this past week he'd been shot the same question by an overly familiar talk show hostess, who had flirted and touched and whispered a string of inappropriate innuendos - until Ren, whose patience had nearly been at its end, had firmly extricated the hostess's hand from his knee, smiling with the force of his anger.

Things had been better after that. The hostess had swooned, very nearly fainting, and Ren had been able to answer the question unmolested.

_"I was at the right place at the right time," he'd said simply. "President Takarada of LME took a chance on me. Without him, I doubt I would be where I am today."_

It was a lie, seasoned with a grain of truth. The President_ had_ taken a chance, but he certainly hadn't done so on a whim; his friendship with Hizuri Kuu had played a massive role, and it was perhaps been the only reason Ren was here, a celebrity despite everything.

He fed Kyouko that same lie, watching her face surreptitiously. Her expression never changed, but her eyes lowered from his, narrowing.

"So it was just luck, then," she said, voice low. "Honestly, I find that a bit hard to believe, Tsuruga-san. You just don't seem the sort to operate on luck."

"Really." Ren smiled, smothering the small spike of unease that erupted in his chest. "And what makes you so certain of that?"

"I've seen you act. Luck has nothing to do with it."

The unease surged suddenly, and Ren felt himself go cold. It seemed Kyouko had done her research, too; Ren had the terrifying feeling that she knew him far more than she should. But he forced himself to ignore that feeling. He couldn't afford to show weakness, especially not here -

Ren leaned back, relaxing as much as he dared. "Thank you for the compliment, Kyouko-san," he said, knowing full well that her words were no compliment. "But you leave me at a distinct disadvantage. I would rather hear about you. Where are you from?"

Kyouko's eyes narrowed further, her lips twisting into a slight frown. "I grew up here, in the city."

"Ah. And what about your parents? I imagine they must be very proud of you."

For the barest moment, Ren was certain that Kyouko went pale. "My parents died some years ago," she said tersely. "So I wouldn't know."

He fought back a wince. This had suddenly turned...awkward. "I'm sorry to hear that. Please forgive me for bringing up bad memories."

That violet gaze leveled upon him with a dark ferocity. "Nothing to forgive, Tsuruga-san. You didn't know. That's why we're here, anyway - to learn more of each other."

They spoke further, easing into subjects that were thankfully less painful. Still, by the time a waiter arrived to take their orders, Ren found himself more than ready to leave. Their conversation had turned softer, gentler, but there was an edge to Kyouko's eyes. She hid it well, but Ren could still sense it.

Kyouko hated him. Despised him utterly and completely. Had Ren been anyone else, perhaps he would have missed it.

But Ren knew hatred, and he knew the darkness that came with it. With every passing moment, the depth of Kyouko's hatred for him became more obvious.

It was nothing new to him. Ren had his fans, but he also had plenty of detractors as well; and during his career, there had been times when he'd had to work with those detractors who despised his very being. As an actor, it was unavoidable.

And yet, somehow, this was different. This Kyouko - who, to be honest, meant nothing to him, and probably would never mean anything to him - reminded him of the girl who cooked his meals every night. This Kyouko, this model, this child of Tora, had a heart consumed by hatred. Just like the other Kyouko, who had been thrown away by Fuwa Shou like so much trash.

The similarity should have ended there. This model Kyouko was nothing like the Kyouko he knew - the girl who had cooked silently in his kitchen, never once looking at Ren or speaking to him. That girl, of course, had gone home to care for her mother, and was miles away, in Kyoto...

But then again, that was a lie. That Kyouko had lied to his face, and was probably no where near Kyoto. She'd disappeared, gone to who knew where.

And this model Kyouko...she was here, staring at him with eyes of hatred, eyes that were deep violet instead of topaz gold. Nothing about them physically was the same; except, when Ren looked closer, he could see in the sweep of this Kyouko's lashes, the delicate contours of her cheeks, the graceful length of her neck...he could see the other Kyouko. The Kyouko who despised Fuwa Shou;the Kyouko who had golden, ravishing eyes; the Kyouko who worked as a slave for LME...

Ren swallowed, unable to believe. No. This was wrong. He was wrong. They couldn't be one and the same -

"Tsuruga-san. Is something the matter?" The hatred in those violet eyes seethed, almost like a living thing, but Kyouko's voice was tempered with worry.

It disturbed him like nothing else, seeing that hatred, feeling it wash over him. Because the Kyouko he remembered had been innocent, with eyes full of wonder, and a mind that knew nothing but purity and guileless naivete. The little girl Kyouko, who had thought him a fairy, should never had been reduced to _this._

"I need you to tell me something," Ren said softly, in a voice as calm as he could manage. "Why do you hate me?"

* * *

><p><strong>So...I really don't have an excuse. This took way too long to update. I really want to finish this before the end of the month, so - please throw something at me if I don't! Ciao for now.<strong>


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